BRENTONS 


ANNA  CHAPIN  RAY 


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THE  BRENTONS 


NOVELS   BY 

ANNA    CHAPIN    RAY 
* 

THE  DOMINANT  STRAIN 

BY   THE   GOOD   STE.  ANNE 

ON  THE  FIRING  LINE 

HEARTS   AND  CREEDS 

ACKROYD  OF   THE  FACULTY 

QUICKENED 

THE  BRIDGE  BUILDERS 

OVER  THE  QUICKSANDS 

A  WOMAN  WITH  A  PURPOSE 

THE   BRENTONS 

* 


CATIA  PUT  HER  ELBOWS  ox  THE  TABLE  AND  CLASPED  HER 

HANDS    AROUND    HER    CUP. 

FRONTISPIECE.     See  Page  84 


THE  BRENTONS 


BY 

ANNA   CHAPIN   RAY 

AUTHOR  OF  "A  WOMAN  WITH  A  PURPOSE" 
"  TH.K  BRIDGE  BUILDERS,"  ETC. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 
WILSON   C.  DEXTER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1912 


Copyright,  1912, 
BY  LITTLE,  BKOWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published,  January,  1912 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,   CAMBRIDGE,    U.  8.  A. 


STACK 
ANNEX 


•> 


THE  BRENTONS 


THE  BRENTONS 


CHAPTER    ONE 

HOWEVER  archaic  and  conventional  it  may  sound, 
it  is  the  literal  fact  that  young  Scott  Brenton  was 
led  into  the  ministry  by  the  prayer  of  his  widowed 
mother.  Furthermore,  the  prayer  was  not  made  to 
him,  but  offered  in  secret  and  in  all  sincerity  at  the 
Throne  of  Grace. 

"  Oh,  my  dearest  Lord  and  Master,"  she  prayed, 
at  her  evening  devotions  upon  her  knees  and  with 
her  work-roughened  hands  clasped  upon  the  gaudy 
patchwork  quilt ;  "  guide  Thou  my  son.  Bring  him 
to  feel  that  his  perfect  happiness  can  come  only  from 
going  forth  to  preach  Thy  word  to  all  men." 

And,  as  it  chanced,  the  door  of  her  room  had  been 
left  slightly  open.  Scott  Brenton,  young  and  alert 
and  full  of  enthusiasms  which  his  years  of  grinding 
work  and  economy  had  been  powerless  to  down,  came 
leaping  up  the  steps  just  then.  The  front  door  had 
been  left  unlocked  for  him.  He  closed  it  noiselessly 
behind  him,  and  then  started  to  run  up  the  stairs. 
The  murmur  of  his  mother's  voice  checked  him, 
stayed  his  step  a  moment,  and  then  changed  its  pace. 
He  went  on  up  the  stairs  quite  soberly,  thoughtful, 
his  face  a  little  overcast. 


2  THE    BRENTONS 

It  was  now  the  middle  of  the  Christmas  holidays 
of  his  junior  year.  The  day  he  had  left  college  for 
the  short  vacation,  his  chemistry  professor  had  sent 
for  him  and  had  said  things  to  him  about  his  last 
term's  work  and  about  his  examination  papers  at  the 
end  of  the  term.  The  things  were  courteous  as  con 
cerned  the  past;  to  Scott  Brenton's  mind,  they  were 
dazzling  as  concerned  the  future.  The  dazzle  had 
endured  until  his  mother's  words  had  fallen  on  his 
ears.  Then  it  had  eclipsed  itself,  leaving  him  to 
wonder  whether,  after  all,  it  had  not  been  the  ignis 
fatuus  of  self-elation,  and  not  the  steady  glow  of 
truth.  Scott  Brenton  was  not  much  more  given  to 
introspection,  at  that  epoch  of  his  life,  than  is  any 
other  healthy  youngster  of  nineteen.  None  the  less, 
he  slept  curiously  little,  that  night. 

Next  morning,  while  he  dressed,  he  kept  his  teeth 
shut  cornerwise,  a  habit  he  had  when  he  was  making 
up  his  mind  to  any  noxious  undertaking.  Then  he 
went  downstairs,  to  find  his  mother  smiling  con 
tentedly  to  herself,  while  she  added  the  finishing 
touches  to  the  breakfast.  It  was  sausage,  that  morn 
ing,  Scott  Brenton  always  remembered  afterwards. 
They  had  been  chosen  out  of  deference  to  his  boyish 
appetite.  He  never  tasted  them  again,  if  he  could 
help  it.  They  seemed  to  have  added  to  their  already 
strange  assortment  of  flavours  a  tang  of  bitterness 
that  bore  the  seeds  of  spiritual  indigestion. 

His  mother  looked  up  to  greet  him  with  an  eager 
ness  from  which  she  vainly  sought  to  banish  pride. 
He  was  her  only  child,  her  all;  and  he  was  suffi 
ciently  good  to  look  upon,  clever  enough  to  pass  mus 
ter  in  a  crowd.  To  her  adoring  eyes,  however,  he 


THE    BRENTONS  3 

was  a  mingling  of  an  Adonis  with  a  Socrates.  And 
she  herself,  by  encouragement  and  admonition  and 
self-denying  toil,  had  helped  to  make  him  what  he 
was.  Small  wonder  that  her  pride  in  him  could  never 
be  completely  downed !  Nevertheless,  — 

"  Have  a  good  time,  last  night  ?  "  she  asked  him 
tamely. 

But  she  missed  a  certain  young  enthusiasm  from 
his  accent,  as  he  answered,  — 

"  Fine !  " 

"  Catie  there?  "  she  asked  again,  with  the  crisp 
elision  of  one  whose  life  has  been  too  strenuous  to 
waste  itself  in  the  more  leisurely  forms  of  speech. 

"Yes.     Is  breakfast  ready?" 

She  nodded,  as  she  speared  the  sizzling  sausages 
one  by  one  and  transferred  them  to  a  platter.     Then,* 
while  she  poured  off  a  little  of  the  fat  by  way  of 
gravy,  she  put  yet  another  question. 

"Look  pretty?"  she  said. 

Her  son  felt  no  difficulty  in  applying  the  question 
to  Catie,  the  proper  object,  rather  than  to  the  sau 
sages  on  which  his  mother's  gaze  was  bent. 

"  About  as  usual,"  he  said  temperately. 

His  mother  laughed  out  suddenly.  The  laugh 
brought  back  to  her  face  a  faint  resemblance  to  the 
girl  who,  as  the  pretty  daughter  of  old  Parson 
Wheeler,  had  been  the  acknowledged  belle  of  all  the 
small  community.  Later  on,  all  the  small  community 
had  been  jarred  to  its  social  foundations  by  the  dis 
covery  that  Betty  Wheeler,  child  of  a  long,  long  line 
of  parsons,  was  going  to  marry  Birge  Brenton  who 
had  come  to  "  clerk  it  "  in  the  village  store.  She 
did  marry  him,  and,  a  little  later  on,  and  most 


4  THE    BRENTONS 

obligingly  for  all  concerned,  he  died.  Few  people 
mourned  him.  His  wife,  though,  was  among  the  few. 
She  had  a  conscience  of  Puritan  extraction,  and  the 
keenest  possible  sense  of  what  was  seemly. 

Scott,  at  the  time,  was  ten  days  old;  therefore 
he  did  not  share  her  mourning.  Indeed,  he  was  too 
busy  trying  to  adjust  himself  to  things  in  general 
and  pins  in  particular  to  have  much  energy  or  time 
left  over  to  spare  for  thinking  about  other  people. 
Already,  the  trail  of  Mrs.  Brenton's  reading  ances 
tors  had  led  her  to  the  naming  her  child  Walter 
Scott.  Her  sense  of  decorum  caused  her  to  wonder 
vaguely,  after  her  husband  died,  whether  it  would 
not  be  proper  to  change  the  baby's  name  to  Birge. 
Her  wonderings,  though,  merely  served  to  render 
her  uneasy ;  they  bore  no  fruit  in  action.  The  as 
sociations  with  the  name  were  not  of  the  sort  she 
cared  to  emphasize,  and  the  boy  was  allowed  to  keep 
his  more  impressive  label. 

As  time  went  on,  though,  he  rebelled  against  the 
childish  Wally  and  insisted  on  the  Scott,  but  pre 
fixed  by  the  blank  initial  whose  significance,  he 
fondly  hoped,  would  permanently  remain  a  mystery. 
A  month,  however,  after  he  had  entered  college,  he 
was  known  as  Ivanhoe  to  all  the  class  who  knew 
anything  about  him  at  all;  and,  in  the  catalogue 
published  in  his  sophomore  year,  he  was  registered 
quite  curtly  as  Scott  Brenton.  Never  again  in  all 
his  lifetime  did  the  incriminating  W  reappear. 

If  his  mother  felt  regretful  for  the  change,  she 
was  far  too  wise  to  show  it.  Indeed,  it  is  quite 
likely  that  she  felt  no  regrets  at  all.  By  the  time 
that  Scott  came  to  his  'teens,  Mrs.  Brenton  was 


THE    BRENTONS  5 

doing  her  level  and  conscientious  best  to  conceal 
from  him  the  demoralizing  fact  of  her  belief  that  he 
could  do  almost  no  wrong,  and  she  clung  to  the 
modifying  almost  with  a  passionate  fervour  born  of 
her  clerical  ancestry  and  her  consequent  belief  in 
the  inherent  viciousness  of  unconverted  man.  More 
over,  her  inherited  notions  of  conversion  included 
spiritual  writhings  and  physical  night-sweats  and 
penitential  tears  by  way  of  its  accomplishment. 
According  to  the  creed  of  all  the  Parson  Wheelers 
since  the  Puritan  migration,  one  became  a  Christian 
rather  violently,  and  not  by  leisurely  unfolding.  It 
had  been  to  her  the  greatest  of  all  reliefs  since  the 
unconfessed  one  born  of  her  husband's  premature 
removal,  when  the  young  Walter  Scott  had  got  him 
self  converted  by  means  of  an  itinerant  revivalist. 
From  that  time  on,  her  gaze  had  been  fixed  unfal 
teringly  upon  the  hour  when  he  should  assume  the1 
mantle  of  his  clerical  grandparents ;  and  she  inclined 
to  look  upon  his  other  talents  as  being  so  many 
manifestations  of  diabolic  ingenuity. 

And  now,  these  Christmas  holidays,  the  diabolism 
seemed  to  her  to  be  rampant;  it  effervesced  through 
all  Scott's  being  like  the  mysterious  things  he  brewed 
within  his  test-tubes.  Not  that  Mrs.  Brenton  would 
have  known  a  test-tube  by  sight,  however.  She  only 
had  gleaned  from  her  son's  talk  the  fact  that  they 
existed  and  held  fizzy  compounds  which  would  kill 
you,  if  you  drank  them.  Perhaps  her  analogy  was 
all  the  better  for  her  lack  of  specific  knowledge.  In 
any  case,  she  saw  and  feared  the  effervescence.  The 
sausages  and  the  white  bowl  of  hot  fat  gravy  were 
so  much  carefully  considered  bait  to  lure  her  son 


6  THE    BRENTONS 

back  into  the  paths  of  orthodox  uprightness.  While 
they  were  being  swallowed  —  slowly,  by  reason  of 
their  mussiness  —  she  had  certain  things  she  wished 
to  say  to  him. 

To  her  extreme  surprise,  Scott  said  them  first  to 
her. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  a  little  bit  imperiously  con 
sidering  his  age ;  "  no  matter  now  about  Catie.  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about  —  " 

"  About  ?  "  she  queried  nervously,  while  he  hesi 
tated  under  what  obviously  was  a  pretext  of  picking 
out  the  brownest  sausage. 

"  About  —  myself." 

Her  nervousness  increased. 

"  Take  some  more  gravy,  Scott,"  she  urged  him 
hurriedly.  "  You  'd  better  dip  it  on  your  bread  as 
soon  as  you  can ;  it  gets  cold  so  soon,  these  winter 
mornings." 

But  he  ignored  the  spoon  she  offered  him.  When 
he  spoke,  it  was  with  a  curious  hesitation. 

"  Mother,  did  I  tell  you  what  Professor  Mansfield 
said?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Weren't  you  glad  —  just  a  very  little?"  His 
tone  was  boyish  in  its  pleading. 

Mrs.  Brenton's  answer  was  evasive. 

"  Of  course,  Scott.  I  am  always  glad,  when  your 
teachers  speak  well  of  you,"  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  but  think  of  it,"  he  urged  impatiently. 
"  I  hate  to  brag,  mother ;  but  do  you  take  in  all  he 
meant:  that  he  saw  no  reason,  if  I  kept  on,  that 
I  should  not  make  a  record  as  a  chemist?" 

While  he  spoke,  his  gray  eyes  were  fixed  on  her 


THE    BRENTONS  7 

imploringly.  Under  some  conditions  and  in  some 
connections,  she  would  have  been  swift  to  read  in 
them  the  text  of  his  unspoken  prayer;  but  not  now. 
Her  ancestral  tendencies  forbade:  those  and  the 
doubts  which  centred  in  her  son's  other  heritage,  less 
orthodox  and  far,  far  less  under  the  domination  of 
the  spiritual.  Now  and  then  the  boy  looked  like  his 
father,  astoundingly  like,  and  disturbingly.  This 
was  one  of  the  times. 

Across  his  young  enthusiasm,  her  answer  fell  like 
a  wet  linen  sheet. 

"  But  are  you  going  to  keep  on  ?  " 

He  tried  to  regain  his  former  accent. 

"  That  is  what  I  want  to  decide,  right  now,"  he 
said  as  buoyantly  as  he  was  able.  "  Of  course,  it 
is  n't  just  what  I  started  out  to  do;  but  he  seemed 
to  feel  it  was  my  chance,  and  you  and  I,  both  of 
us,  have  been  used  to  taking  any  chance  that  came. 
What  do  you  think  I'd  better  do?" 

For  a  moment,  she  worked  fussily  at  the  twisted 
wire  leg  of  the  tile  that  held  the  coffee  pot.  Her 
eyes  were  still  upon  the  wire,  when  at  last  she 
answered. 

"  You  must  do  as  you  think  right,  my  son." 

*'  But  what  do  you  really  think,  yourself? "  he 
urged  her. 

This  time,  she  lifted  her  eyes  until  they  rested 
full  upon  his  own. 

"  It  is  n't  exactly  what  we  have  planned  it  all  for, 
Scott.  Still,  it  may  be  that  this  will  be  the  next 
best  thing,  after  all." 

"  Then  you  would  be  disappointed,  if  I  took  the 
chance?  " 


8  THE    BRENTONS 

She  felt  the  edge  of  the  coming  renunciation  in  his 
voice  and  in  his  half-unconscious  change  of  tense, 
and  she  dropped  her  eyes  again,  for  fear  they  should 
betray  the  gladness  that  she  felt,  and  so  should  hurt 
him. 

"  Do  you  need  to  decide  just  now?  "  she  asked 
evasively. 

"  Between  now  and  next  summer." 

"  Why  not  wait  till  then?  " 

He  crossed  her  question  with  another. 

"What's  the  use  of  waiting?" 

"  You  may  get  more  light  on  it,  if  you  wait,"  she 
said  gravely. 

Scott  shut  his  teeth  hard  upon  an  end  of  sausage. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  only  one  more  phase 
of  the  same  futile  whole,  when  his  teeth  encountered 
a  hard  bit  of  bone.  And  his  mother  sat  there,  out 
wardly  impartial,  inwardly  disapproving,  and  talked 
about  more  light,  when  already  his  young  eyes  were 
blinded  by  the  lustrous  dazzle.  Oh,  well!  It  was 
all  in  the  day's  work,  all  in  the  difference  between 
nineteen  and  thirty-nine,  he  told  himself  as  patiently 
as  he  was  able.  And  his  mother  at  thirty-nine,  he 
realized  with  disconcerting  clearness,  was  infinitely 
older  than  Professor  Mansfield's  wife  at  sixty.  In 
deed,  he  sometimes  wondered  if  she  ever  had  been 
really  young,  ever  really  young  enough  to  forget  her 
heritage  of  piety  in  healthy,  worldly  zeal.  What 
ever  the  depths  of  one's  filial  devotion,  it  sometimes 
jars  a  little  to  have  one's  mother  use,  by  choice,  the 
phraseology  of  the  minor  prophets.  In  fact,  in  cer 
tain  of  his  more  unregenerate  moments,  Scott  Bren- 
ton  had  allowed  himself  to  marvel  that  he  had  not 


been  christened  Malachi.  At  least,  it  would  have 
been  in  keeping  with  the  habitual  tone  of  the  domestic 
table  talk.  And  yet,  in  other  moments,  he  realized 
acutely  that  that  same  heritage  was  in  his  nature, 
too.  The  village  gossips  had  been  exceedingly  benev 
olent,  in  that  they  had  spared  him  any  inkling  of 
the  sources  whence  had  come  certain  other  strains 
which  set  his  blood  to  tingling  every  now  and  then. 

Just  such  a  strain  was  tingling  now,  as  he  laid 
down  his  knife  and  fork,  rested  his  elbows  on  the 
table  before  him  and  clasped  his  hands  tight  above 
his  plate. 

"  I  think  I  have  all  the  light  I  am  likely  to  get, 
mother,"  he  said  steadily. 

"  But,  if  the  light  within  thee  be  —  " 

He  checked  her  with  a  sudden  petulant  lift  of  his 
head.  And,  after  all,  it  was  not  quite  her  fault. 
Life,  for  her,  had  been  so  hard  and  so  busy  that 
he  ought  not  to  grudge  her  the  consolation  she  had 
been  able  to  dig  up  out  of  the  accumulated  debris 
of  the  ancestral  trick  of  sermonizing.  In  a  more 
gracious,  plastic  existence,  she  would  have  taken  it 
out  in  Browning  and  the  Russians;  yet  she  was  not 
necessarily  more  narrow  because  her  literary  artists 
were  pre-Messianic.  Neither  was  it  the  fault  of  those 
same  artists  that  they  were  quoted  in  and  out  of 
season,  and  always  for  the  purpose  of  clinching  an 
obnoxious  point. 

"  It  is  n't,"  he  said,  as  quietly  as  he  was  able. 
Then  the  boyishness  pent  up  within  him  came  burst 
ing  out  once  more.  "  Listen,  mother,"  he  said  im 
petuously.  "  Really,  this  thing  has  got  to  be  talked 
out  between  us  to  the  very  dregs.  We  may  as  well 


10  THE    BRENTONS 

face  it  now  as  ever,  and  come  to  the  final  conclusion. 
I  know  you  started  out  to  make  me  into  a  minister. 
I  know  you  feel  that  it  is  the  one  great  profession 
of  them  all.  But  is  it?" 

For  a  minute,  her  hands  gripped  each  other;  but 
they  were  underneath  the  hanging  edge  of  tablecloth, 
and  so  invisible  to  Scott. 

"  What  can  be  greater  than  to  speak  the  truth 
that  makes  us  free?  "  she  questioned. 

"  Is  n't  there  more  than  one  kind  of  truth, 
mother?  "  he  challenged  her. 

"  How  can  there  be  ?  " 

Again  he  shut  his  teeth  and  swallowed  down  his 
opposition.  He  was  too  immature  to  argue  that 
there  might  be  different  facets  to  the  selfsame  truth. 

"  Listen,  mother,"  he  began  again,  when  he  had 
proved  to  himself  that  he  could  rely  upon  his  self- 
control.  "  As  I  say,  I  started  out  to  be  a  minister, 
to  be  another  Parson  Wheeler  in  fact,  if  not  in 
name.  I  know  it  has  been  your  dream  to  hear  me 
preach,  some  day  or  other.  And  I  know  how  you 
have  pinched  and  scrimped  and  worked,  to  give  me 
the  education  that  I  was  bound  to  need." 

"  You  have  worked,  too,  Scott,"  she  told  him,  in 
swift  generosity.  "  You  have  tugged  along  and 
gone  without  things  and  worked  hard,  in  your  books 
and  out  of  them.  You  know  I  have  been  proud  of 
you ;  the  credit  for  it  is  n't  all  mine,  by  any  means." 

His  young  face  flushed  and  softened.  Unclasping 
his  hands,  he  leaned  across  the  table  and  laid  his 
palm  upon  her  fingers  as  they  rested  on  the  cloth 
beside  her  plate.  Both  palm  and  fingers  were  rough 
ened  and  callous  with  hard  work;  but  mother  and 


THE    BRENTONS  11 

son  both  were  of  that  fast-vanishing  class  of  folk 
who  spell  their  Education  with  the  largest  sort  of 
capital  letter.  Their  minds  were  alike,  in  that  they 
both  believed  the  work  worth  while,  for  the  sake  of 
all  that  it  would  be  able  to  accomplish. 

"  Thank  you,  mother,"  Scott  said  unsteadily.  "  I 
am  glad  you  feel  so,  even  if  I  don't  deserve  it." 
Then  he  steadied  sharply  and  became  practical.  "  So 
far,  we  've  put  it  through,  one  way  or  the  other," 
he  went  on.  "  Still,  if  I  go  in  for  the  ministry,"  and 
his  mother  winced  at  the  bald  worldliness  of  his 
phrasing ;  "  I  shall  have  a  year  and  a  half  more  at 
college,  and  then  three  years  of  divinity  school.  We 
can  do  it,  I  suppose.  For  a  matter  of  fact,  I  ought 
to  be  able  to  put  it  through  alone,  without  a  cent 
from  you;  but  is  it  quite  worth  while?  According 
to  Professor  Mansfield,  if  I  keep  steady,  I  can  go 
straight  from  my  degree  into  the  laboratory  as  a 
paid  demonstrator.  It  would  n't  be  much  pay,  of 
course.  Still,  it  would  help  along,  and  I  could  go 
on  studying  under  him,  all  the  time  I  was  about  it. 
By  the  time  three  years  were  over,  the  three  years 
I  would  have  to  spend  in  the  divinity  school,  I  should 
be,  ought  to  be,  well  upon  my  feet  and  walking 
towards  a  future  of  my  own." 

His  mother  drew  a  long  breath,  as  the  swift  tor 
rent  of  words  came  to  an  end.  Then,  — 

"  And  at  the  end  of  twenty  years,  my  son?  That 
is  the  real  question." 

Scott's  enthusiasm  all  went  out  of  him.  His  as 
sent  came  heavily. 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted.  "  Yes.  I  suppose  that  is 
the  real  question,  mother.  It  all  depends  — ' 


12  THE    BRENTONS 

She  looked  up  at  him  sharply,  as  if  in  haste  to 
probe  the  limits  of  his  hesitation. 

"  Depends  ?  "  she  echoed. 

"  Upon  the  way  you  feel  about  it,  mother." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  that,"  she  offered  swift  correction ;  "  but 
upon  the  question  which  is  right.  You  are  at  the 
forking  of  the  roads,  the  narrow  and  the  broad. 
You  are  almost  a  man,  Scott.  I  have  no  right  to 
decide  this  for  you ;  you  must  make  your  own  choice 
for  yourself.  However,  my  son,  you  know  my  dreams 
for  you;  you  know  my  prayers." 

And  Scott  Brenton,  boy  as  he  was  in  years,  bowed 
his  head  in  grave  assent,  and  then  and  there  made 
his  great  renunciation.  He  did  know  his  mother's 
dreams ;  he  had  overheard,  albeit  unknown  to  her, 
her  prayer.  She  had  given  all  she  had  for  him;  his 
young  honour,  taking  no  thought  for  disastrous  con 
sequences,  demanded  that  he  should  give  up  at  least 
this  one  thing  for  her.  He  pushed  back  his  chair, 
went  around  the  table  and  laid  one  hand  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"  I  do  know,  mother  dear.  As  far  as  I  can,  I 
will  do  my  best  to  carry  them  all  out." 

He  bent  above  her  in  a  brief,  awkward  caress, 
the  caress  of  a  man  whose  life  has  been  too  hard 
and  too  narrow  to  give  him  opportunity  to  perfect 
himself  in  the  arts  of  masculine  endearments.  Then, 
leaving  his  breakfast  half  uneaten,  he  went  away 
upstairs  and  shut  the  door  of  his  own  room  behind 
him.  A  long  hour  later,  he  came  down  the  stairs 
again,  and  went  away  in  search  of  Catie. 

He  hoped  Catie  would  listen  to  him,  and  under- 


THE    BRENTONS  13 

stand  him  and  his  crisis ;  but,  all  the  time  he  hoped, 
he  was  conscious  of  a  sneaking  fear  lest  she  would 
not.  Scott  loved  to  talk  things  out,  and  Catie,  when 
she  was  not  too  busy  otherwise,  was  a  good  listener. 
Nevertheless,  her  comprehensions  were  concrete  and 
very,  very  finite. 


CHAPTER    TWO 

To  all  seeming,  there  always  had  been  a  Catie  in 
Scott  Brenton's  life,  always  had  been  a  Catie  for 
him  to  seek  in  seasons  of  domestic  stress  or  disci 
pline.  Indeed,  his  first  memory  of  her  was  inextric 
ably  mingled  with  the  recollections  of  an  early  spank 
ing.  Scott  was  naturally  a  good  child,  and  Mrs. 
Brenton,  as  a  rule,  spanked  cunningly,  but  very 
seldom.  Now  and  then,  she  felt  that  circumstances 
justified  the  deed. 

Scott,  seven  years  old  and  inventive  withal,  had 
been  locked  up  in  the  house  alone,  one  day,  while  his 
mother  went  to  a  particularly  attractive  funeral  with 
carriages  enough  for  even  the  outside  circle  of  the 
mourners.  One  such  mourner  failing,  she  had  been 
bidden  to  the  vacant  seat  in  the  rearmost  carriage, 
and  her  absence  had  been  prolonged  unduly.  She 
came  home,  expecting  to  find  Scott  wailing  loudly 
for  his  missing  mother.  Instead,  she  found  him 
playing  camp-out  Indian,  as  he  called  it,  with  her 
best  bed  by  way  of  wickiup,  and  the  wickiup  was 
provisioned  lavishly  and  stickily  from  the  resources 
of  the  closet  where  she  kept  her  jams. 

Prudence  and  frugality  demanded  that  Mrs.  Bren 
ton  should  remove  her  best  clothes,  before  she  es 
sayed  to  administer  justice  at  short  range.  Scott, 


THE    BRENTONS  15 

left  to  himself,  played  on  contentedly  the  while,  until 
his  camp  was  rudely  invaded  by  a  foe  clad  in  a 
second-best  petticoat  and  a  shoulder  shawl,  and 
armed  with  a  slipper  which  had  seen  better  days. 
Even  then,  prudence  cried  out  for  yet  another  delay, 
for  the  young  Indian  was  carrying  so  much  of  his 
commissariat  upon  his  person  that  it  seemed  wise 
to  wash  him,  before  she  proceeded  to  the  spanking. 
Mrs.  Brenton's  point  of  view,  moreover,  was  decidedly 
old-fashioned.  Instead  of  rejoicing  at  this  fresh 
manifestation  of  her  boy's  imagination,  she  concen 
trated  all  her  remarks  upon  what  she  termed  his 
theft,  and  she  frugally  used  the  period  while  she 
was  scrubbing  him,  to  drive  her  spoken  condemna 
tions  home.  Accordingly,  it  was  a  long,  long  time 
of  duplex  agony  before  the  spanking  finally  achieved 
itself,  and  Scott,  clean,  but  tingling  from  the  slip 
per's  impact,  was  told  to  go  out  and  sit  down  on 
the  doorstep  and  think  over  what  a  bad,  bad  boy 
he  had  been. 

Like  Alexander  the  Less,  he  found  the  doorstep 
distinctly  cooling  to  his  fevered  person,  and  he  sat 
there  contentedly  enough,  while  he  gave  himself  over 
to  the  luxury  of  bubbly  sobs  and  of  digging  his  fists 
into  his  weeping  eyes.  So  absorbed  was  he  in  this 
soothing  occupation  that  he  paid  no  heed  to  the 
patter  of  approaching  footsteps,  until  a  voice  fell 
on  his  ears. 

"  Cry-baby !  "  the  voice  chirped,  in  the  high  key 
which,  to  the  youthful  mind,  is  expressive  of  disdain. 
And  then  it  added  even  more  disdainfully,  "  Dirty- 
face!" 

Dazed  by   this   two-fold   attack   upon   him,   Scott 


16  THE    BRENTONS 

took  down  his  smudgy  fists  and  displayed  to  the 
intruder's  view  his  smudgy  countenance.  An  older 
pair  of  eyes  might  easily  have  discovered  cause  for 
wonder  that,  in  so  short  a  time  since  his  scrubbing, 
so  great  a  quantity  of  mother  earth  could  have  found 
its  way  upward  to  mingle  with  his  tears  and  form 
the  dust  that  grimed  his  face.  Despite  his  tears  and 
his  grime,  however,  Scott's  manly  temper  roused 
itself  to  face  his  critic. 

"  I  ain't !  "  he  bellowed  hotly  at  the  air  around 
him,  without  troubling  himself  to  look  to  see  whence 
the  strange  voice  had  come. 

The  voice  reflected  somewhat  of  his  opposition. 

"You  are,  too.     What's  on  your  face?" 

"  Blackberry  jam  and  soap,"  Scott  answered,  with 
a  craftiness  beyond  his  years.  He  told  the  literal 
truth,  but  not  all  the  truth.  No  need  to  inform  this 
critical  stranger  what  was  the  crust  that  lay  on 
top  of  all. 

The  critical  stranger  removed  her  pink  counte 
nance  from  the  crack  between  the  front-fence  pickets, 
and  pushed  the  gate  open  just  a  very  little  way. 
Seen  through  the  larger  crack,  she  stood  revealed 
to  Scott,  a  slim  little  damsel  of  perhaps  six  years, 
her  pink  calico  frock  starched  until  it  stood  out 
stiffly  above  her  knees,  and  her  topmost  curl  tied 
up  with  a  mammoth  bow  of  green  gauze  ribbon,  ob 
viously  culled  from  some  box  of  ancestral  finery. 
She  was  a  pretty  child;  but,  even  at  that  tender 
age,  the  decision  of  her  little  moutli  and  chin  was  too 
pronounced,  the  lift  of  her  small  head  a  trifle  too 
self-satisfied. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  cry-baby?  "  she  inquired,  as 


THE    BRENTONS  17 

Scott's  interest  in  her  appearing  was  punctuated  with 
a  fresh  gulp  of  woe. 

"  I  've  been  spanked." 

The  critical  light  faded  from  her  eyes,  to  be  re 
placed  by  another  light,  this  time  of  interest. 

"What  for?" 

"I  was  playing  Indian  in  mother's  jam." 

Most  damsels  of  that  age  would  have  asked  for 
further  particulars.  Instead,  — 

"  Hh !  "  she  sniffed,  and  the  sniff  spoke  volumes 
as  to  the  quality  of  her  young  imagination. 

Scott  felt  it  lay  upon  him  to  defend  himself  from 
all  which  the  sniff  implied. 

"  'T  was  fun,  too,"  he  asserted  suddenly,  as,  with 
a  final  wipe  of  his  fist  across  his  eyes,  he  dismissed 
the  outward  traces  of  his  grief.  "  You  get  things  to 
eat  to  take  with  you,  and  the  bed  's  the  camp,  and 
you  live  there  for  years  and  always,  all  alone.  And 
then  they  smell  the  things  you  're  eating  and  — 

"  Who  's  they?  "  the  small  girl  demanded. 

"  Oh,  wolves  and  Indians  and  things,  and  they 
come  around  and  growl  awfully.  But  you  are  n't 
afraid.  You  take  your  gun,  and  crawl  in  under  the 
blankets  and  go  on  eating,  sure  they  won't  come  in 
after  you  —  " 

"What  do  you  eat?" 

Had  Scott  been  a  few  years  older,  he  doubtless 
would  have  answered,  — 

"  Pemmican." 

As  it  was,  however,  he  responded  glibly, — 

"  Snake  meat." 

"  Hh !  "  Again  there  came  the  sniff.  "  Snakes 
don't  have  meat.  They  only  wiggle." 


18  THE    BRENTONS 

Scott  glared  at  her,  during  a  moment  of  speech 
less  hostility.  Then  suddenly  he  fired  upon  her  with 
what  was  to  be  the  favourite  weapon  of  his  later 
life. 

"  Prove  it !  "  he  ordered  her  defiantly. 

But  his  defiance  fell  upon  a  surface  quite  im 
penetrable  to  its  shaft. 

"  Sha'n't !  " 

"  'Fraid  cat !  "  he  retorted  curtly. 

"  Ain't !  " 

And  then,  for  a  short  while,  there  was  a  silence. 
Out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  the  little  girl  was 
watching  Scott.  Scott,  his  head  ostentatiously 
averted,  was  gazing  at  something  he  had  dug  up 
out  of  his  trouser  pocket,  something  concealed  within 
the  curve  of  his  smudgy  hand.  Young  as  he  was, 
his  theories  did  not  fail  him.  The  silence  prolonged 
itself  for  minutes  which  seemed  to  them  both  like 
hours.  Then  the  eternal  feminine  yielded  to  the 
sting  of  curiosity. 

"  What  you  got  ?  "  she  asked  him,  as  the  gate 
swung  open  just  a  little  wider. 

Scott  was  too  canny  to  yield  one  whit  of  his  ad 
vantage.  His  hand  shut  into  a  fist. 

"  That 's  telling." 

The  gate  swung  open  wider  yet,  and  the  small 
girl  marched  through  the  opening. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  imperiously.  "  I  want  to 
see  it." 

Scott  still  held  himself  aloof,  still  held  his  trophy 
concealed  from  her  curious  eyes.  She  tried  to  grasp 
his  hand,  missed  it,  then  succeeded.  Then  she  tried 
to  pry  open  the  tight-shut  fingers. 


THE    BRENTONS  19 

"  Show  me !  "  she  ordered. 

He  shook  his  head,  smiling  derisively  at  her,  while 
her  strong  little  fingers  did  their  best  to  pluck  open 
his  hard  little  fist. 

Without  another  word,  she  bent  above  his  hand. 
An  instant  later,  the  hand  flew  open,  and  the  ball  of 
the  opening  thumb  showed  the  prints  of  small,  sharp 
teeth. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  once  more. 

Scott's  voice  dropped  to  a  murmur  which  was 
charged  with  mystery. 

"  It 's  a  back  tooth  of  the  whale  that  swallowed 
Jonah." 

Instantly  she  struck  his  hand  a  blow  that  sent  his 
trophy  flying  off  into  the  thick  grass  beside  the 
step. 

"  It  is  not,"  she  said  shrilly.  "  It 's  nothing  but 
a  dirty  old  chicken  bone,  so  there !  " 

And  then,  to  the  unspeakable  astonishment  of 
Scott,  she  seated  herself  upon  the  bottom  step, 
smoothed  her  calico  skirt  across  her  little  knees,  and 
prepared  to  await  further  developments  in  tranquil 
comfort.  It  was  thus  that  Scott  Brenton  first 
learned  the  lesson  that  the  feminine  mind  only  gains 
the  fullest  comfort  in  having  the  last  word,  when  it 
is  able  to  sit  by  and  watch  that  word  sink  in  and 
be  digested.  Later  on  in  his  life,  the  lesson  was 
repeated  again  and  again,  with  an  increasing  list  of 
corollaries.  Oddly  enough,  too,  it  was  always  given 
to  him  by  the  selfsame  teacher,  sometimes  with  mild 
ness,  sometimes  with  spiritual  floggings. 

This  time,  however,  she  appeared  to  be  contented 
with  the  form  her  teaching  had  taken,  contented,  too, 


20  THE    BRENTONS 

with  its  effect  upon  himself.  Accordingly,  she  made 
no  effort  to  continue  the  discussion.  She  merely  sat 
there,  silent,  in  the  place  whence  she  had  ousted  him, 
and  gloated  on  her  victory,  sure  that  in  time  his 
masculine  impatience  would  lead  him  to  break  in  upon 
the  pause. 

She  knew  her  man. 

"What's  your  name?"  Scott  asked  her  curtly, 
after  an  interval  of  digging  one  heel  and  then  the 
other  into  the  turf  beside  the  step. 

"  Catie." 

"  Catie  what?  " 

"  Catie  Harrison." 

"  Huuh !  " 

She  scented  criticism  in  his  reply. 

"  It 's  better  than  yours  is,"  she  retorted. 

"  It  is  not,  too,"  he  made  counter  retort.  "  Be 
sides,  you  don't  know  my  name." 

Slowly  the  little  damsel  nodded,  once,  twice. 

"  Yes,  I  do.     The  man  told  me." 

"What  man?" 

"  The  man  that  sells  hens'  eggs  to  my  mother.  I 
asked  him,  and  he  told  me." 

Scott  eyed  her  with  fierce  hostility.  Was  there  no 
limit  to  this  small  girl's  all-penetrating  curiosity? 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  "  he  asked  defiantly. 

"  It 's  Walter  Scott  Brenton,"  she  assured  him. 
And  then  she  added,  by  way  of  turning  her  triumph 
into  a  crushing  rout,  "  I  think  it 's  the  homeliest 
name  I  ever  heard." 

And  once  again  Scott  Brenton  gritted  his  teeth 
upon  the  fact  that  he  was  downed. 

Later,  he  took  his  turn  for  extracting  information 


THE    BRENTONS  21 

concerning  his  uninvited  guest.  He  extracted  it  from 
herself,  however,  and  with  refreshing  directness.  At 
the  advanced  age  of  seven  years,  one  sees  no  especial 
use  in  conventional  beatings  about  the  bush.  One 
goes  straight  to  the  point,  or  else  one  keeps  still 
entirely ;  and,  at  that  phase  of  his  existence,  keeping 
still  was  not  Scott  Brenton's  forte.  Indeed,  he  was 
later  than  are  the  most  of  us  in  learning  the  lesson 
that  the  keenest  social  weapon  lies  in  reticence. 

The  starchy  little  damsel,  it  appeared,  was  the 
daughter  of  a  petty  farmer,  lately  come  into  the 
village.  She  was  an  only  child;  her  home  was  the 
third  house  up  the  street,  and  her  mother,  busy  about 
her  household  tasks  and  already  a  good  deal  under 
the  thumb  of  her  small  daughter,  considered  her  whole 
maternal  duty  done  when  the  child  was  washed  and 
curled  and  clothed  in  starch,  and  then  turned  out 
to  play.  Catie  was  able  to  look  out  for  herself, 
Catie's  mother  explained  contentedly  to  her  new 
neighbours,  and  she  knew  enough  to  come  home, 
when  she  was  hungry.  Best  let  her  go  her  ways, 
then.  She  would  learn  to  be  a  little  woman,  all  the 
sooner;  and,  in  the  meantime,  it  was  a  great  deal 
easier  to  do  the  housework  without  having  a  child 
under  foot  about  the  kitchen. 

And  go  her  ways  the  little  damsel  did,  with  only 
her  guardian  angel  to  see  to  it  that  her  way  was 
not  the  wrong  one.  By  the  time  her  father's  first 
week's  rent  was  due,  Catie  had  made  acquaintance 
with  every  inhabitant  of  the  village,  from  the 
Methodist  minister  down  to  the  blacksmith's  bob- 
tailed  cat.  Not  only  that;  but  Catie,  by  dint  of 
many  questions,  had  discovered  why  the  Methodist 


22  THE    BRENTONS 

minister's  wife  was  buried  in  the  churchyard  with  a 
slice  of  marble  set  up  on  top  of  her,  and  why  the 
blacksmith's  bob-tailed  cat  lacked  the  major  portion 
of  her  left  ear.  If  ever  there  was  a  gossip  in  the 
making,  it  was  Catie  Harrison.  More  than  that, 
her  accumulated  gossip  was  sorted  out  and  held  in 
reserve,  ready  to  be  applied  to  any  end  that  suited 
her  small  convenience.  Scott  Brenton  found  that 
fact  out  to  his  cost,  when  the  story  of  his  camp  and 
his  subsequent  spanking  came  back  upon  him  by  way 
of  the  man  that  sold  the  hens'  eggs,  in  retaliation 
for  his  refusal  to  ask  that  he  himself  and  Catie  should 
be  allowed  to  have  a  ride  in  the  egg-man's  wagon. 
Catie  might  be  but  six  years  and  nine  months  old; 
but  already  her  infant  brain  had  fathomed  the  theory 
of  effectual  relation  between  the  crime  and  the  pun 
ishment.  Her  ideal  Gehenna  would  be  made  up  of 
countless  little  assorted  hells,  not  of  one  vast  and 
indiscriminate  lake  of  flaming  brimstone.  Perchance 
this  very  fact  had  its  own  due  share  of  influence  upon 
the  later  theology  of  Scott  Brenton. 

That  there  would  be  influence,  no  one  who  watched 
the  children  could  deny.  After  the  first  day's  squab 
bles,  perhaps  even  on  account  of  them,  they  became 
inseparable.  When  they  were  not  together,  either 
Catie  was  looking  for  Scott,  or  Scott  for  Catie,  save 
upon  the  too  frequent  occasions  when  discipline  fell 
upon  the  two  of  them  simultaneously  and  forced  them 
into  a  temporary  captivity.  When  they  were  held 
apart,  they  spent  their  time  planning  up  new  things 
to  do  together,  once  the  parental  ban  was  off  their 
intercourse.  When  they  were  together,  it  was  Scott 
who  supplied  the  imagination  for  the  pair  of  them, 


THE    BRENTONS  23 

Catie's  share  lay  in  the  crafty  outworking  of  the  plan. 
When  their  plans  came  to  disaster,  as  often  happened 
by  reason  of  the  boldness  of  Scott's  young  concep 
tions,  Catie  took  the  disappointment  with  the  temper 
of  a  little  vixen,  kicked  against  the  pricks  and  openly 
defied  the  Powers  that  Be.  Scott,  on  the  other 
hand,  shut  his  teeth  and  accepted  the  penalty,  already 
intent  upon  the  question  as  to  what  he  should  under 
take  another  time. 

And  so  the  days  wore  on.  To  the  adult  mind, 
they  would  have  seemed  to  pass  monotonously.  The 
quicker  child  perceptions,  though,  the  magnifying 
point  of  view  that  makes  a  mountain  out  of  every 
mole  hill,  caused  them  to  seem  charged  with  an  in 
finite  amount  of  variety  and  incident,  full  of  enthu 
siastic  dreams  and  thrills,  and  of  crushing  disap 
pointments  which,  however,  never  completely  ended 
hope.  Scott's  heritage  from  the  long  line  of  Parson 
Wheelers  would  have  made  him  stick  to  the  belief 
that  two  and  two  must  always  equal  four,  had  it 
not  been  for  that  other  heritage  which  kept  him 
always  hoping  that  some  day  or  other  it  might  equal 
five.  Already,  he  was  starting  on  a  life-long  quest 
for  that  same  five,  and  Catie,  nothing  loath,  went 
questing  by  his  side.  Catie,  though,  went  out  of  the 
merest  curiosity,  and  her  invariable  "  I  told  you  so  " 
added  the  final,  the  most  poignant  sting  to  all  of 
Scott's  worst  disappointments.  At  the  mature  age 
of  six  or  seven,  Catie  Harrison  showed  quite  plainly 
that  no  mere  longing  for  a  possible  ideal  would  ever 
lure  her  from  the  path  of  practical  expediency.  She 
walked  slowly,  steadily  ahead,  while  her  boy  com 
panion  leaped  to  and  fro  about  her,  chasing  first 


24  THE    BRENTONS 

one  bright  butterfly  of  the  imagination  and  then 
another,  only  to  clutch  them  and  bring  them  back 
to  her  to  be  viewed  relentlessly  with  prosaic  eyes 
which  saw  only  the  spots  where  his  impatient  touch 
had  rubbed  away  the  downy  bloom. 

And  so  the  months  rolled  past  them  both,  Catie 
the  young  materialist  and  potential  tyrant,  and  Scott 
Brenton  the  idealist.  The  years  carried  the  children 
out  of  the  perpetual  holidays  of  infancy  and  into 
the  treadmill  of  schooling  that  begins  with  b,  a,  ba 
and  sometimes  never  ends.  Side  by  side,  the  two 
small  youngsters  entered  the  low  doorway  of  the 
primary  school;  side  by  side,  a  few  years  later,  a 
pair  of  lanky  striplings,  they  were  plodding  through 
their  intermediate  studies  which  seemed  to  them  un 
ending.  Catie  was  eagerly  looking  towards  the  final 
pages  of  her  geography  and  grammar,  for  beyond 
them  lay  the  entrance  to  another  perpetual  holiday, 
this  time  of  budding  maturity.  Scott's  eyes  were 
also  on  the  finish,  but  for  a  different  reason.  His 
mother,  one  night  a  week  before  his  fourteenth  birth 
day,  had  talked  to  him  of  college,  of  his  grandfather, 
the  final  Parson  Wheeler  of  the  line,  and,  vaguely, 
of  certain  ambitions  which  had  sprung  up  within  her 
heart,  the  morning  she  had  listened  to  the  birth-cry 
of  her  baby  boy. 

A  week  later,  she  had  given  him  his  grandfather's 
great  gold  pen,  albeit  with  plentiful  instructions  to 
the  effect  that  he  was  not  to  use  it,  but  to  keep  it 
in  its  box,  untarnished,  until  such  time  as  he  was 
fitted  to  employ  it  in  writing  sermons  of  his  own. 
Scott  had  received  the  gift  with  veneration,  and 
then  quite  promptly  had  summoned  Catie  to  do 


THE    BRENTONS  25 

reverence   at   the   selfsame   shrine.      But   Catie   had 
rebelled. 

"Fudge!"  she  had  said  crisply.  "What's  the 
sense  of  having  a  useful  thing  like  that,  that  you 
can't  use?  *' 


CHAPTER    THREE 

AT  the  mature  age  of  four,  Scott  Brenton's  favour 
ite  pastime  had  been  what  he  termed  "  playing 
Grandpa  Wheeler."  The  game  accomplished  itself 
by  means  of  a  chair  by  way  of  pulpit,  and  a  serried 
phalanx  of  other  chairs  by  way  of  congregation, 
whom  the  young  preacher  harangued  by  the  hour 
together.  The  harangues  were  punctuated  by  occa 
sional  bursts  of  song,  not  always  of  a  churchly 
nature,  and  emphasized  by  gestures  which  were  more 
forceful  than  devout.  In  this  game  Mrs.  Brenton 
often  joined  him,  lending  her  thin  soprano  voice  to 
help  out  his  quavering  childish  notes,  and  doing  her 
conscientious  best,  the  while,  to  keep  the  songs  at 
tuned  to  the  key  of  proper  piety.  To  be  sure,  she 
did  insist  upon  bringing  her  sewing  into  church  and, 
on  one  occasion,  she  patched  her  young  son's  trousers 
into  a  hideous  pucker,  by  reason  of  her  greater  in 
terest  in  the  method  of  his  expoundings. 

"  Just  for  all  the  world  like  father ! "  she  was 
wont  to  say.  "  But  wherever  did  he  pick  it  up,  when 
father  was  in  his  grave,  three  years  before  the  child 
was  born?  " 

The  question  was  left  unanswered  by  herself  of 
whom  she  asked  it.  All  too  soon,  moreover,  it  was 
joined  by  another  question  of  similar  import,  but 


THE    BRENTONS  27 

far  more  appalling.  Indeed,  where  did  the  boy, 
where  does  any  boy,  pick  up  the  tricks  and  manners 
and  the  phraseology  of  certain  of  his  forbears  who 
quitted  the  world  before  he  fairly  entered  it?  In 
Scott's  case,  the  example  was  a  flagrant  one. 

At  the  starting  of  the  game  of  "  Grandpa 
Wheeler,"  Mrs.  Brenton  had  been  so  charmed  with 
the  outworkings  of  heredity  as  to  balk  at  nothing 
Scott  might  do:  sermon,  hymn,  or  even  prayer. 
When  she  was  sure  of  her  role  and  had  the  leisure, 
she  joined  him  in  his  imitative  worship,  delighting 
in  the  unconscious  fashion  in  which  the  sonorous 
phrases  of  convention  rolled  off  from  her  son's  baby 
lips.  And  then,  one  day,  Scott's  memory  failed  him 
in  his  invocation.  There  came  a  familiar  phrase  or 
two,  and  then  a  babble  of  meaningless  syllables,  end 
ing  in  a  long-drawn  and  relieved  Amen.  An  instant 
later,  Scott  lifted  up  his  head. 

"  Mo  —  ther,"  he  shrilled  vaingloriously ;  "  I  for- 
getted  how  it  ought  to  go ;  but  did  n't  I  put  up  a 
bully  bluff?  " 

And,  in  consequence,  Mrs.  Brenton  took  her  prayers 
into  bed  with  her,  that  night.  Some  of  them,  even, 
lasted  till  the  dawn. 

This  was  when  Scott  was  only  four.  By  the  time 
he  was  fourteen,  he  took  himself  more  seriously.  He 
still  played  "  Grandpa  Wheeler  "  in  imagination ;  but 
he  no  longer  called  it  play,  but  plans.  Already,  he 
was  looking  forward  to  the  hour  when,  in  creaking 
Sunday  shoes  and  shiny  Sunday  broadcloth,  he  should 
mount  the  stairs  of  the  old-fashioned  pulpit  in  the 
village  church,  gather  the  hearts  of  the  waiting  con 
gregation  within  the  welcoming  and  graceful  gesture 


28  THE    BRENTONS 

which  would  prelude  his  opening  prayer,  and  then 
scourge  those  same  hearts  with  the  lashing  truths 
which  lead  unto  regeneration.  He  saw  himself  dis 
tinctly  in  this  role,  more  distinctly,  even,  than  in  the 
blurry  mirror  before  which  he  performed  his  morn 
ing  toilet.  It  was  no  especial  wonder  that  he  did  so. 
Ever  since  he  had  been  old  enough  to  pay  heed  to 
anything,  his  mother  had  been  holding  the  picture 
up  before  his  eyes. 

Catie,  however,  refused  to  be  impressed  by  the 
picture. 

"  What  makes  you  want  to  be  a  minister  ?  "  she 
asked  him.  "  I  'd  rather  you  kept  a  store.  There  's 
lots  more  money  in  it." 

"  I  don't  see  what  difference  it  is  going  to  make 
to  you?"  Scott  answered  rather  cavalierly. 

Catie's  reply  was  matter-of-fact,  regardless  of  the 
sentimental  nature  of  its  substance. 

"  Don't  be  stupid,  Scott.  Of  course,  we  shall  be 
married,  when  we  get  grown  up,  and  then  you  '11  have 
me  to  support." 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  announced  this  rather 
radical  plan  of  hers,  so  it  was  no  especial  wonder 
that,  for  the  moment,  it  took  Scott's  breath  away. 
Not  that  he  objected  especially,  however.  It  was 
only  the  novelty  of  the  idea  that  staggered  him.  To 
his  slowly-developing  masculine  mind,  it  never  had 
occurred  that  he  and  Catie  could  not  go  on  for  ever, 
just  chums  and  playmates  and,  now  and  then,  lusty 
foes,  without  complicating  their  relations  by  more 
formal,  final  ties.  He  rallied  swiftly,  however. 

"  Well,  you  '11  have  to  marry  a  minister,  then,"  he 
told  her  sturdily. 


THE    BRENTONS  29 

Her  nose  wrinkled  in  disgust. 

"  And  wear  shabby  clothes  and  a  bad  bonnet,  like 
Mrs.  Platt,  and  have  to  go  to  all  the  funerals  in 
town !  How  horrid !  Oh,  Scott,  do  be  some  other 
kind  of  a  man.  A  minister's  wife  can't  dance  any 
thing  but  the  Virginia  reel,  nor  play  anything  more 
than  muggins.  Why  can't  you  be  a  dentist,  if  you 
won't  keep  a  store?  " 

For  the  once,  Scott  showed  himself  dominant, 
aggressive. 

"  Because  I  'd  rather  preach.  It 's  what  all  my 
people  have  always  done." 

Then  Catie  made  her  blunder. 

"What  about  your  father?"  she  asked,  and  her 
voice  was  taunting. 

Scott  forgot  his  holy  heritage  and  turned  upon 
her  swiftly. 

"  Shut  up !  "  he  bade  her  curtly,  and  her  cheek 
tingled  under  the  blow  he  dealt  her. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  Scott  had 
turned  upon  her  with  decision.  Moreover,  perchance 
it  would  have  been  better  for  him,  had  it  not  been 
the  last. 

For  three  days  afterward,  the  subject  was  as  a 
sealed  book  between  them.  Then  Catie  broke  the 
seals,  and  gingerly. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  your  being  a  minis 
ter,"  she  told  him,  as  she  dropped  into  step  beside 
him,  on  the  way  to  school.  "  Of  course,  you  were 
very  rude  to  treat  me  the  way  you  did,  the  other  day ; 
and  I  hope  you  are  sorry." 

Scott  shut  his  teeth,  although  he  nodded  shortly. 
He  had  not  enjoyed  the  three-day  frost  between  him- 


30  THE    BRENTONS 

self  and  Catie;  but  he  was  sure  that,  in  the  final 
end,  he  had  been  in  the  right  of  it,  even  if  he  had 
been  a  little  unceremonious  in  pressing  the  matter 
home  on  her  attention.  Moreover,  his  will  had  tri 
umphed;  Catie  had  been  the  one,  not  he,  to  break 
the  silence.  The  casualness  of  her  "  Hullo !  "  that 
morning,  had  not  deceived  him  in  the  least.  He  was 
perfectly  well  aware  that  she  had  lain  in  wait  for  his 
passing,  her  eye  glued  to  the  crack  of  the  front- 
window  curtains.  The  victory  was  his.  He  could 
afford  to  yield  the  minor  point  concerning  manners, 
when  he  stood  so  firmly  entrenched  upon  that  other 
point  which  concerned  the  ministry. 

"  Of  course,"  he  conceded  guardedly ;  "  I  know  I 
was  beastly  when  I  hit  a  girl." 

"  Yes."  Catie's  accent  was  uncompromising.  "  It 
was  a  disgrace  to  you.  I  wonder  you  can  look  me  in 
the  face.  If  it  had  been  any  other  boy,  I  never  would 
have  spoken  to  him  again  as  long  as  I  lived." 

"  Really  ?  "  To  her  extreme  disgust,  Scott  seemed 
to  take  her  utterances  merely  as  matter  for  scientific 
investigation. 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  said  impatiently. 

"  But  why  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

"  Why?  "  she  flashed.  "  Because  he  would  n't  de 
serve  to  be  spoken  to,  nor  even  looked  at." 

"  No ;  I  don't  mean  that,"  the  boy  answered,  still 
with  the  same  apparent  desire  to  probe  the  situation 
to  the  very  bottom.  "  But  why  should  you  speak  to 
me,  and  not  to  him  ?  " 

She  suspected  him  of  fishing  for  a  sweetie,  and, 
out  of  sheer  contrariety,  she  flung  him  a  bit  of 
crust. 


THE    BRENTONS  31 

"  Because  I  am  used  to  you,  I  suppose.  One  gets 
so,  after  eight  or  nine  years  of  growing  up  together." 
And,  in  that  one  sentence,  Catie  showed  the  practical 
maturity  of  her  grasp  on  life  and  on  Scott  Brenton. 

Half  way  to  the  distant  schoolhouse,  she  spoke 
again,  this  time  more  tactfully. 

"  Never  mind  the  spat,  Scott.  That 's  over  and 
done  with,  even  if  you  were  horrid,"  she  told  him. 
"  But  really,  now  we  're  growing  up,  we  ought  to 
think  things  over  and  decide  things."  And,  despite 
her  short  frocks  and  her  childish  face,  her  words  held 
a  curious  accent  of  mature  decision. 

"What  sort  of  things?" 

"  The  things  you  are  going  to  do,  when  you  grow 
up." 

"  I  have  decided,  I  tell  you,"  he  said  stubbornly. 

"To  be  a  country  parson,  all  your  days?"  she 
queried  flippantly. 

"  To  be  a  minister,  yes.  Not  a  country  one, 
though." 

"  Oh."     She  pondered.     «  What  then?  " 

He  looked  over  her  head,  not  so  much  in  disdain  as 
in  search  of  a  more  distant  vista. 

"  In  a  city  church,  of  course,  a  great  stone  church 
with  towers  and  chimes  and  arches,  and  crowded  full 
of  people,  and  with  their  horses  and  carriages  wait 
ing  at  the  doors,"  he  answered,  he  who  had  never 
trodden  a  paved  street  in  all  his  life. 

"  Oh ! "  But,  this  time,  the  monosyllable  was 
breathy,  and  not  sharp. 

"  Yes,  and  there  will  be  a  choir  as  good  as  those 
people  who  sang  at  the  town  hall,  last  Thanksgiving, 
and  flowers,  lots  of  them,  roses  in  winter,  even,"  he 


32  THE    BRENTONS 

went  on  eagerly.  "  And  you  can  hear  a  pin  drop 
while  I  am  preaching,  only  once  in  a  while  somebody 
will  sob  a  little  in  the  pauses,  and  then  put  in  a  roll 
of  hundred-dollar  bills  when  the  contribution  box 
comes  round." 

Catie  drew  another  long  breath,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled. 

"  Lovely !  "  she  said,  and  she  stretched  out  the  word 
to  its  full  length  by  way  of  expressing  her  content 
ment.  "  And  where  '11  I  be?  " 

Scott  withdrew  his  eyes  from  distant  space  and 
gazed  upon  her  blankly. 

"  I  had  n't  thought  about  that,"  he  said. 

Then,  for  an  instant,  the  glory  of  his  dream  was 
shattered. 

"  Pig !  "  Catie  said  concisely. 

However,  it  was  not  within  the  limits  of  her  curi 
osity  to  drop  the  prediction  at  this  piquant  point. 
The  framing  of  the  picture,  for  so  she  regarded  it, 
had  pleased  her.  Scott  failing,  she  must  fill  in  the 
portrait  to  suit  herself. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  then.  I  shall  be  there,  in  the  very 
front  seat,  dressed  in  flowing  curls,"  Catie's  hair,  at 
this  epoch,  was  pokery  in  its  stiff  straightness ;  "  and 
a  real  lace  dress.  And,  after  service,  all  the  rich 
people  in  the  church  will  ask  us  out  to  dinner.  Of 
course,  in  a  church  like  that,  the  minister's  wife  is 
always  at  the  top  of  things,  and  I  shall  help  along 
your  work  by  making  people  like  me  and  be  willing 
to  listen  to  your  sermons  because  you  are  my 
husband." 

And  then  the  two  young  egotists  fell  silent,  each 
one  of  them  lost  in  outlining  a  future  in  which  he 


THE    BRENTONS  33 

himself  was  the  central  point,  the  guiding  principle 
of  all  things.  Between  the  two  of  them,  however, 
there  was  this  one  essential  difference:  Scott's  fore- 
castings  were  vague  and  rosy  dreams,  Catie's  were 
concrete  plans. 

None  the  less  and  despite  that  difference,  from 
that  time  onward,  it  was  tacitly  agreed  between  the 
children  that  Scott  would  one  day  be  a  minister,  with 
Catie  for  his  wife.  To  be  sure,  it  was  Catie  herself 
who  supplied  the  latter  clause,  not  Scott. 

"  You  '11  have  to  have  some  sort  of  a  wife,"  she 
argued  superbly.  "  Ministers  always  do.  It  might 
as  well  be  me.  You  like  me  better  than  any  of  the 
other  girls,  and  I  am  used  to  having  you  around." 
And,  upon  this  rocky  basis  of  practicality,  their  young 
romance  was  built. 

Mrs.  Brenton,  meanwhile,  looked  on  them  with 
contented  eyes,  smiling  a  little  now  and  then  at  the 
downright  fashion  in  which  the  thirteen-year-old 
Catie  made  known  her  matrimonial  plans.  Mrs. 
Brenton  liked  Catie  well  enough,  but  not  too  well. 
She  could  have  dreamed  of  another  sort  of  wife  for 
her  boy,  for  Catie's  crudeness  occasionally  irritated 
her,  Catie's  self-centred  ambition,  her  intervals  of 
density  sometimes  came  upon  Mrs.  Brenton's  nerves. 
However,  girls  were  scarce  upon  the  horizon  of  the 
Brentons.  Catie  was  not  perfect;  but,  at  least,  she 
might  be  infinitely  worse.  And  Scott  would  be  sure 
to  need  a  practical  wife,  to  counteract  his  habitual 
disregard  of  concrete  things.  Catie  would  see  to  it 
that  his  wristbands  were  not  frayed  and  that  his 
buttons  were  in  their  proper  places.  She  might 
not  enter  into  his  ideals,  but  she  would  mend  his 


34  THE    BRENTONS 

socks  and  insist  upon  his  changing  them  when  he 
had  wet  his  feet.  Socks  were  more  important  to  a 
man  than  mere  ideals,  any  day,  more  important,  that 
is,  as  concerned  his  conjugal  relations.  Scott  could 
make  up  his  ideals  to  suit  himself.  His  socks  must 
be  prepared  for  him  by  wifely  hands. 

Of  course,  they  were  only  children  now,  only  little 
children,  too  young  to  be  thinking  about  such  things 
as  marriage.  And  yet  —  And  Mrs.  Brenton  shook 
her  head.  And  yet,  were  not  the  happiest  marriages 
prearranged  in  just  this  way?  Surely,  this  was  far 
better  as  a  preparation  for  wedded  life  than  was  the 
sudden,  feverish  courtship  which  rushed  at  express- 
train  speed  and  clatter  from  the  first  introduction  of 
two  strangers  to  the  final  irrevocable  words  before  the 
altar.  Mrs.  Brenton's  own  experience  had  taught 
her  that  acquaintance  should  come  before  one's  mar 
riage,  not  wait  till  after. 

All  in  all,  the  more  she  thought  about  it,  Mrs. 
Brenton  favoured  Catie's  somewhat  premature  an 
nouncement  of  her  plans.  Despite  his  heritage  of 
sturdy  parson  blood,  Mrs.  Brenton  confessed  to  her 
self  that  Scott  might  easily  become  a  little  erratic 
now  and  then,  might  let  go  his  hold  upon  the  one 
thing  needful  in  order  to  gratify  his  curiosity  con 
cerning  the  touch  of  less  essential,  more  alluring 
trifles.  He  needed  the  steady,  sturdy  influence  of 
some  one  outside  himself  to  keep  him  always  in  the 
beaten  tracks.  Already,  for  better  or  for  worse, 
Catie's  influence  upon  him  was  a  strong  one ;  stronger, 
Mrs.  Brenton  admitted  to  herself  with  a  woful  little 
sigh,  than  that  of  his  own  mother,  despite  the  ill- 
concealed  anxiety  and  the  doting  love  that  only  a 


THE    BRENTONS  35 

mother  can  give,  and  then  only  to  an  only  son.  Be 
tween  the  two  of  them,  herself  and  Catie,  Catie's 
will  was  the  stronger  law.  Catie,  if  she  chose,  could 
keep  Scott's  feet  well  in  the  limits  of  the  beaten 
trails.  It  should  be  her  duty  to  impress  on  Catie's 
girlish  mind  that  the  beaten  trail  was  the  only  one 
for  him  to  follow,  the  path  of  expediency  as  well 
as  the  path  of  holiness ;  that  complete  contentment 
and  success  lay  only  at  its  other  end. 

Accordingly,  Mrs.  Brenton  took  it  upon  her  shoul 
ders  to  play  the  part  of  Providence  for  those  two 
young  children:  Scott  and  Catie.  To  Scott,  she 
pointed  out  Catie  as  the  girl  best  worth  his  atten 
tion  and  his  comradeship,  the  while,  with  the  other 
hand,  she  still  held  up  before  him  the  picture  she 
had  so  long  ago  created,  the  picture  of  himself, 
child  of  the  preaching  race  of  Wheelers,  proclaim 
ing  the  gospel  to  all  men  and  some  heathen.  Side 
by  side  she  placed  them:  the  world-given  wife,  the 
heaven-offered  career.  Moreover,  she  was  so  far 
the  artist  that  she  was  able  to  shift  her  lights  and 
shades  to  fall  now  upon  the  one  and  now  upon  the 
other,  according  as  Scott's  interest  in  one  or  other 
of  them  appeared  to  her  to  wane.  Her  quick-sighted 
mother  love  was  prompt  to  warn  her  of  that  wan 
ing,  prompt  to  make  her  understand  that,  to  a  boy 
like  Scott,  a  hard  and  fast  monotony  would  be  fatal 
to  almost  any  plan. 

With  Catie,  on  the  other  hand,  her  course  was 
altogether  different,  altogether  simpler.  With  the 
constant  and  unwavering  blows  of  a  carpenter  pound 
ing  a  nail  into  an  oaken  plank,  she  pounded  into 
Catie's  mind  the  undeniable  truths  that  Scott's  an- 


36  THE    BRENTONS 

cestry  alone  was  enough  to  fit  him  for  the  ministry ; 
that  the  ministry,  granted  the  sincerity  of  its  ortho 
dox  convictions,  may  be  the  highest  field  of  labour 
offered  to  any  man.  Moreover,  to  these  palpable 
truths,  she  added  others,  a  shade  less  undeniable. 
She  impressed  it  on  the  mind  of  Catie  that  Scott's 
sole  chance  of  happiness,  in  this  life  and  the  life  to 
come,  rested  upon  their  combined  ability  to  shield 
him  from  any  adverse  influence  which  might  deflect 
his  footsteps  from  his  predestined  goal.  She  im 
pressed  it  on  the  mind  of  Catie,  also,  that  it  was  her 
girlish  duty  to  herd  her  immature  companion  into 
the  proper  fold;  that  her  young  and  sprightly 
charms,  her  girlish  loyalty  should  be  to  her  as  a 
shepherd's  crook,  the  guiding  wand  to  be  applied 
in  moments  of  extremest  peril. 

After  her  lights,  Mrs.  Brenton  was  canny.  If  she 
only  had  been  a  little  bit  more  worldly,  she  would 
have  been  a  clever  woman;  moreover,  her  potential 
cleverness  had  never  been  one  half  so  manifest  as 
when  she  talked  about  all  this  to  Catie.  She  did  not 
put  forward  her  urgings  crudely,  as  for  the  sake  of 
Scott,  her  son.  Rather  than  that,  she  held  them  up 
to  Catie  coyly,  as  glimpses  of  opportunity  and  power 
which  waited  for  her  at  the  gateway  of  maturity: 
opportunity  given  only  to  the  helpmeet  of  a  man  in 
the  commanding  position  offered  by  his  ministerial 
profession,  power  given  to  that  helpmeet  by  reason 
of  her  position  by  his  side. 

Like  the  conductor  of  an  orchestra  who  draws  out 
from  one  instrument  and  then  another  the  varied 
themes  of  an  overture,  so  Mrs.  Brenton  drew  from 
the  unlike  minds  of  Catie  and  her  son  the  selfsame 


THE    BRENTONS  37 

and  successive  themes  of  what  she,  in  her  mother 
blindness,  deemed  the  one  possible  and  ennobling  over 
ture  to  Scott  Brenton's  life.  It  was  quite  charac 
teristic  of  Mrs.  Brenton's  make-up,  however,  that  she 
took  no  thought  of  Catie's  life,  save  in  so  far  as  it 
could  be  applied  to  the  ultimate  development  of 
Scott,  her  son. 


CHAPTER    FOUR 

"  A  PUFFIC'  fibbous ! "  the  monthly  nurse  had  an 
nounced  triumphantly,  when  she  had  presented  Mrs. 
Opdyke's  first-born  son  to  his  mother  for  her 
inspection. 

The  phrase,  and  the  smile  which  invariably  ac 
companied  it,  were  the  main  stock  in  trade  of  the 
monthly  nurse.  Upon  these  two  items,  she  had  based 
her  popularity  which  now  had  endured  for  more  than 
a  dozen  years  of  escorting  over  the  threshold  of  this 
world  the  sons  and  daughters  of  "  first  families  only," 
as  her  professional  card  insisted.  To  be  sure,  the 
constant  employment  of  the  phrase  had  robbed  it 
of  all  critical  significance.  Indeed,  it  is  very  doubt 
ful  whether,  even  at  the  start  of  her  career,  the  nurse 
had  ever  linked  it  in  her  mind  with  the  great  god 
Apollo.  From  some  one  of  her  predecessors,  she 
had  picked  it  up  and  found  that  it  fitted  well  upon 
her  tongue.  Later,  the  "  fibbouses  "  abounded  more 
and  more  plenteously,  as  her  clientage  increased, 
and  she  applied  the  term  indiscriminately,  regardless 
whether  the  recipient  were  an  Apollo,  or  a  mere 
Diana. 

However,  from  the  start,  Reed  Opdyke  certainly 
deserved  the  phrase.  Long  generations  of  clean, 
high-minded  living  cannot  fail  to  produce  an  effect 


THE    BRENTONS  39 

upon  their  offspring.  Reed's  father  had  branched 
off  from  a  line  of  lawyers  to  hold  the  chair  of 
chemistry  in  one  of  the  great  colleges  for  girls. 
Reed's  mother  was  of  Pilgrim  stock,  well-nigh  un 
tainted  by  the  blood  of  later,  lesser  arrivals  on  the 
Massachusetts  shore.  On  either  side  of  the  house,  it 
had  been  a  matter  of  simple  creed  to  hold  one's  body 
and  one's  mind  equally  aloof  from  possibilities  of 
disease.  Reed  Opdyke's  make-up  showed  the  value 
of  this  creed. 

Not  that  he  thought  very  much  about  it,  however. 
He  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course  his  sanity,  very 
much  as  he  accepted  most  other  things  that  came  in 
his  way.  His  loosely  curled  fists  within  his  pockets, 
his  head  erect  and  his  lips  smiling,  he  went  striding 
along  through  life,  taking  the  best  of  it  as  his 
natural  right,  and  letting  the  rest  of  it  alone.  From 
kindergarten  into  school  and  from  school  into  college, 
the  old,  old  road  trodden  by  all  his  ancestors,  he 
journeyed  quite  as  a  matter  of  course.  In  fact,  it 
never  struck  him  that  any  fellow  could  do  otherwise; 
never,  that  is,  until  he  met  Scott  Brenton. 

For  Scott,  in  time,  had  also  come  to  college.  His 
mother  had  insisted  upon  that;  had  worked  for  it 
that  it  might  in  time  be  possible;  had  scrimped  and 
toiled  and  saved,  the  while  she  had  been  training  her 
only  child  to  a  strict  economy  which,  however  galling, 
he  must  accept  as  well  worth  the  while  for  the  sake 
of  all  that  it  was  going  to  put  within  his  grasp. 
Accordingly,  Scott  had  been  sent  to  school  through 
out  the  termtimes,  sent  well  or  ill,  in  good  days  and 
in  bad.  He  had  been  goaded  into  an  ambition  which 
held  him  at  the  top  of  his  small  classes  in  the  village 


40  THE    BRENTONS 

school.  When  the  top  of  the  top  class  was  reached, 
and  college  was  still  inaccessible,  Mrs.  Brenton  had 
stiffened  her  sinews  for  yet  greater  toil  and  scrimping, 
and  had  sent  her  son  up  to  Andover  where  the 
Wheeler  name  was  a  tradition,  where  the  knowledge 
of  Scott's  ancestry  would  help  him  to  find  the  em 
ployment  that  he  needed.  Scott's  education  was  to  be 
by  no  means  easy  of  achievement.  To  gain  his  school 
diploma  and  his  later  degrees  at  college,  he  too  must 
work,  not  alone  at  books,  but,  in  his  off-hours,  at  any 
task  that  offered. 

And  Scott  did  work,  too.  Around  him,  other  boys 
were  going  in  for  football,  making  records  on  the 
track  team,  getting  occasional  leaves  to  run  in  to 
Boston  for  an  odd  half-holiday.  Then  they  came 
back,  hilarious  and  triumphant,  to  discuss  their  ex 
perience  at  mealtimes,  boasting,  chaffing,  wrangling 
merrily  in  the  intimacy  known  to  boyhood,  the  world 
over.  They  never  thought  to  pay  any  especial  at 
tention  to  the  other  boy  who  brought  them  things  to 
eat,  a  boy  with  luminous  gray  eyes  and  clothes  which 
were  in  sore  need  of  pressing.  He  was  just  "  that 
waiter  chap  "  and  not  a  human  being  like  themselves. 
They  talked  about  their  secret  plans  before  him,  with 
no  more  thought  of  his  personality  than  as  if  he  had 
been  a  concrete  post.  And,  after  listening  to  their 
chatter  throughout  a  protracted  mealtime,  after  see 
ing,  as  he  could  not  fail  to  do,  how  he  counted  to  them 
for  absolutely  nothing  at  all,  Scott  Brenton  had  his 
hours  when  he  too  doubted  the  fact  of  his  own 
humanity.  An  active  brain  and  an  almost  automatic 
body  trained  to  supple  service:  these  by  themselves, 
he  realized,  do  not  go  far  towards  making  a  human 


THE    BRENTONS  41 

thing  of  life.  Contacts  are  necessary  for  that,  not 
total  isolation ;  and  contact  was  the  one  thing  denied 
him.  Now  and  then  he  had  his  hours  of  wishing  that 
those  other  boys,  boys  whose  talk  was  full  of  refer 
ence  to  unfamiliar  ways  of  life:  of  wishing  that  they 
would  treat  him  a  little  bit  unkindly.  Anything 
would  be  better  than  this  absolute  ignoring  of  his 
individuality. 

In  his  intervals  of  waiting  on  the  table,  he  washed 
up  the  dishes.  His  meals  he  took,  standing  by  the 
sink,  a  plate  on  the  shelf  before  him,  while  he  washed 
and  chewed  simultaneously.  There  were  other  tasks 
besides,  tasks  all  of  them  more  or  less  menial,  all  of 
them  adding  to  the  general  drain  upon  his  nerves  and 
body.  The  rest  of  the  time,  his  studies  kept  him  busy. 
Indeed,  it  was  no  small  wonder  that  he  was  able  to 
maintain  a  decent  footing  in  his  class,  so  fagged  out 
and  weary  was  he  by  the  time  he  had  a  moment's 
leisure  to  prepare  his  next-day's  lessons.  But  prepare 
them  he  did,  and  well,  although  his  eyes  grew  heavy 
over  the  task  and  ached  with  the  strain  of  working 
by  the  one  dim  light  with  which  his  shabby  garret 
room  was  equipped.  It  was  a  single  room,  unhappily. 
Even  there,  all  contact  was  denied  him.  Saint  Simon, 
sitting  alone  upon  his  pillar  and  gazing  down  upon 
his  fellow  men,  was  no  more  solitary  than  was  Scott 
Brenton.  Moreover,  Saint  Simon  had  the  final  con 
solation  of  being  quite  aware  that  he  was  looking 
down,  a  consolation  which,  to  Scott  Brenton,  was 
permanently  refused. 

And  then,  Andover  done,  there  came  college,  not 
one  of  the  small  colleges  where  individual  idiosyn 
crasies  count  so  much  in  making  up  the  estimate  of 


42  THE    BRENTONS 

the  student's  character;  but  a  great  university,  so 
great  that  it  can  stop  to  measure  no  man  by  any  one 
trait  or  any  several  traits,  so  busy  that  it  must  grasp 
him  in  the  round,  or  not  at  all.  There  lay  the  fact 
of  Scott  Brenton's  ultimate  salvation.  He  would 
have  been  downed  completely,  judged  by  the  finical 
standards  of  the  little  college. 

It  was  in  his  choice  of  college  that,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  Scott  Brenton's  will  had  become  domi 
nant.  His  mother  would  fain  have  had  it  otherwise. 
The  Wheelers,  one  and  all,  had  been  little-college  men. 
The  tradition  was  in  their  blood,  and  she  had  in 
herited  it  to  the  full:  the  strange  belief  that  the 
smaller  college  offers  less  temptation  to  go  astray; 
the  equally  strange  belief  that  the  closer  contact  with 
a  few  professors  can  quite  atone  for  the  lack  of  fric 
tion  against  a  great  crowd  of  fellow  students,  alien 
to  one  another  in  habits  of  mind  and  body,  yet  all  of 
them,  swiftly  or  sluggishly  as  may  be,  moving  towards 
the  selfsame  goal.  It  had  seemed  to  Mrs.  Brenton 
something  bordering  on  the  blasphemous  when  Scott 
had  endeavoured  to  put  this  latter  phase  of  the  ques 
tion  before  her.  Realizing  his  own  futility  upon  that 
score,  he  finally  had  changed  his  tactics  and  assured 
her  that,  as  far  as  money-earning  work  went,  there 
were  ten  chances  in  the  great  college  to  one  in  the 
small. 

And  Scott  was  right,  albeit  his  argument  was  wholly 
superficial.  The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  his 
Andover  experience  had  left  him  sore  and  down 
hearted  ;  that  he  knew,  in  the  bottom  of  his  boyish 
soul,  that  he  must  plunge  beyond  his  depth  and  swim 
into  a  wider  sea,  or  else  go  down  entirely,  pushed 


THE    BRENTONS  43 

out  of  sight  beneath  the  overlapping  circles  of  the 
little  cliques,  all  too  self-centred  to  admit  of  any 
common  focus. 

Mrs.  Brenton  did  not  care  at  all  about  any  com 
mon  focus.  The  phrase  "  college  spirit  "  sounded  in 
temperate,  and  she  would  have  been  the  last  person 
in  the  world  to  agree  to  the  belief  that  Scott  could 
gain  any  education  from  contact  with  boys  of  his 
own  age.  To  her  mind,  one  fusty  old  professor  out 
valued  one  hundred  eager  undergraduates,  as  source 
of  inspiration  to  the  young.  Education,  to  her  mind, 
lay  in  the  desk-end  of  the  classroom;  it  was  unthink 
able  to  her  that  Scott  had  lost  the  best  of  Andover, 
by  reason  of  his  solitary  life  there.  As  for  college, 
the  students,  all  but  Scott,  were  bound  to  be  full  of 
the  wiles  of  the  devil.  Scott's  safety  lay  in  his  books, 
and  in  his  keeping  too  busy  in  his  off-hours  to  have 
time  to  get  into  mischief. 

Moreover,  the  purely  practical  end  of  the  keeping 
busy  was  beginning  to  loom  large  upon  Mrs.  Bren- 
ton's  horizon.  More  and  more  she  was  coming  to 
realize  that  it  is  no  small  undertaking  for  any  widow 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  income  to  put  a  son 
through  college.  Valiantly  she  toiled  and  scrimped; 
but  it  was  becoming  increasingly  necessary  for  Scott 
to  help  her  out  in  both  the  toiling  and  the  scrimping. 
Accordingly,  the  creases  deepened,  both  vertically 
about  the  corners  of  Scott's  lips  and  horizontally 
across  his  shiny  knees  and  shoulder  blades.  His 
eyes,  though,  grew  more  luminous,  as  time  went  on, 
perhaps  because  they  were  surrounded  by  ever 
deepening  hollows. 

It  was  those  eyes  that  first  caught  the  attention 


44  THE    BRENTONS 

of  Reed  Opdyke.  Midway  in  his  sophomore  year, 
Opdyke,  with  a  dozen  others  of  his  kind,  had  re 
volted  from  the  monotony  of  the  commons  table, 
and  had  set  up  a  so-called  joint  of  their  own,  an 
eating-club  presided  over  by  a  gaunt  and  self-help 
ing  senior,  and  served  by  a  quartette  of  cadaverous 
and  self-helping  sophomores  among  whom  was  Scott 
Brenton. 

Reed  Opdyke  was  a  busy  youngster,  full  of  the 
countless  interests  that  cram  the  college  days  of  a 
popular,  easy-going  student.  Also  he  was  a  potential 
leader  of  men,  who  gave  himself  leisure  to  study  the 
people  with  whom  he  came  into  any  kind  of  contact, 
to  sort  them  out  and  classify  them  according  to  their 
possibilities  as  they  unveiled  themselves  to  his  boyish 
eyes.  Three  of  the  cadaverous  sophomores  he  dis 
missed  with  a  glance.  They  were  impossible.  They 
lacked  all  spiritual  yeast  and,  to  the  end  of  time, 
they  would  be  waiters  in  one  sense  or  another.  Scott 
Brenton  was  different.  A  fellow  with  those  eyes 
must  have  it  in  him  to  count  for  something,  some 
day.  Lounging  in  his  seat  at  table,  Opdyke  kept  his 
eye  on  Scott,  talked  at  him,  then  talked  to  him;  and 
then,  obedient  to  some  boyish  whim  or  other,  a  few 
days  later,  the  meal  ended,  he  took  him  by  the  elbow 
and  walked  him  off  to  Mory's  for  a  second  supper. 

Mrs.  Brenton,  on  her  knees  beside  her  bed,  that 
night,  prayed  long  and  fervently  and  with  full  par 
ticulars  concerning  the  education  of  her  son.  Her 
heart  would  have  frozen  with  horror,  had  she  seen 
the  smoke-filled  room  where  her  son  was  sitting,  with 
Reed  Opdyke  across  the  table  from  him.  Her  hopes 
for  his  future  would  have  shrivelled  into  naught, 


THE    BRENTONS  45 

could  she  have  realized  that,  over  that  very  table, 
her  son,  her  Scott,  was  to  receive  a  lesson,  new  and 
quite  unforgettable.  One  hour  of  jovial  human  com 
radeship  had  opened  Scott  Brenton's  eyes  to  more 
things  than  he  ever  yet  had  dreamed  of.  It  had 
taught  him  once  for  all  that  irresponsible,  carefree 
youth  is  not,  of  necessity,  vicious. 

As  the  days  and  the  weeks  ran  on,  the  com 
radeship  increased.  Measured  by  the  days  of 
Opdyke,  overflowing  full  of  interests,  it  took  the 
smallest  possible  share  of  time:  a  look  of  com 
prehension,  a  word  of  casual  greeting,  and,  on  rare 
occasions,  a  bit  of  a  walk  together  when  their  ways 
chanced  to  coincide.  Still  more  occasionally,  a  stray 
hour  was  spent  at  Mory's,  or  in  Opdyke's  room  in 
Lawrence.  As  yet,  a  boyish  delicacy  had  kept  Op- 
dyke  from  seeking  to  invade  what  he  knew  could 
not  fail  to  be  the  barrenness  of  Scott  Brenton's 
quarters. 

Slight  as  was  their  intercourse,  viewed  in  Opdyke's 
eyes,  to  Scott  it  filled  the  whole  horizon,  the  one 
near  and  vital  fact  which  broke  in  upon  its  empti 
ness  and  cut  away  the  barren  wastes  about  him.  He 
lived  alternately  upon  the  memory  of  Opdyke  as  he 
had  seen  him  last,  and  upon  the  anticipations  of 
their  next  meeting.  His  hours  of  table  service,  ceas 
ing  to  be  wearisome,  had  become  veritable  social 
functions,  for  was  there  not  always  the  chance  of 
a  random  word  and  smile?  Those  failing,  there  was 
always  the  pleasure  of  watching  Opdyke,  now  loung 
ing  lazily  in  his  seat  and  mocking  at  his  fellows, 
now  bending  forward  above  the  table,  heedless  of  his 
cooling  plate,  the  while  he  harangued  his  companions 


46  THE    BRENTONS 

with  a  facility  which  seemed  to  Scott  the  acme  of 
brilliant  eloquence. 

At  Reed's  elbow,  Scott  followed  each  inflection  of 
the  persuasive  voice,  his  lean  face  glowing  with  ap 
preciation  at  every  point  his  idol  scored.  For  the 
time  being,  awkwardness  was  lost  and  all  self-con 
sciousness.  Why  think  about  himself,  when  he  could 
have  the  chance  to  watch  Reed  Opdyke  and  to  listen 
to  him?  Scott's  nature  thrilled  in  answer  to  the 
alien  touch,  unconsciously  as  that  touch  was  given. 
It  never  once  would  have  struck  Opdyke  that  he  was 
becoming  an  object  of  idolatry  to  this  gaunt  starvel 
ing  to  whom,  as  he  expressed  it,  he  had  tried  to  be 
a  little  decent.  It  was  quite  within  the  limits  of  his 
comprehension  that  he  could  step  down  now  and 
then  to  Scott.  It  never  would  have  occurred  to  him, 
at  that  epoch  of  his  experience,  that  Scott  could  try 
to  clamber  up  to  him.  Save  for  the  minutes  when 
he  consciously  gave  his  attention  to  the  ungainly 
young  waiter,  he  disregarded  him  completely. 

The  other  boys,  however,  were  quick  to  take  in 
the  situation  and  to  comment  on  it.  "  Reed's  par 
son  "  they  called  Scott,  and  they  chaffed  Opdyke 
mercilessly,  when  Scott's  back  was  turned.  Scott, 
had  he  heard  the  chaff,  would  have  been  wounded  to 
the  death,  a  death  he  would  have  met  far,  far  inside 
his  shell,  regretful  that  ever  he  had  come  out  of  it. 
Opdyke,  however,  merely  laughed  and  stuck  to  his 
original  position. 

"  A  fellow  with  such  eyes  is  bound  to  have  it  in 
him.  He 's  never  had  a  chance,"  he  said  to  his 
chaffing  mates.  "  Wait  till  he  finds  himself,  and  then 
see  what  happens." 


THE    BRENTONS  47 

"  Nothing,"  came  the  prompt  reply.  "  He  won't 
ever  find  himself,  Reed.  He  has  found  you,  and 
that 's  as  much  as  such  a  fellow  as  he  is,  can  ever 
assimilate." 

And  the  reply  was  by  no  means  wide  of  the  mark. 
For  the  present,  Scott  Brenton  was  finding  it  all  he 
could  do  to  assimilate  Reed  Opdyke.  Indeed,  it  was 
only  in  the  very  end  of  all  things  that  fulness  of 
assimilation  came. 

As  the  time  went  on,  partly  in  defiance  of  the 
chaffing  of  his  chronics,  partly  on  account  of  it, 
Opdyke  lent  himself  more  and  more  to  the  assimilat 
ing  process.  He  sought  out  Scott  more  often,  had 
him  in  his  room,  taught  him  to  fill  a  pipe  and  smoke 
it  after  the  fashion  of  a  gentleman,  dropped  into 
his  ears  specious  hints  regarding  manners,  and  about 
the  efficiency  of  one's  mattress  as  frugal  substitute 
for  a  tailor's  pressboard.  To  be  sure,  upon  that 
latter  count  Scott  took  him  with  unforeseen  literal- 
ness  ;  and,  in  his  zeal  to  carry  out  his  teacher's 
dictum,  subjected  his  coat  to  the  mattress  treatment, 
as  well  as  his  more  simply-outlined  nether  garments. 
Moreover,  it  should  be  set  down  as  distinctly  to 
Opdyke's  credit  that  he  suppressed  his  merriment, 
the  next  time  he  saw  the  coat  upon  Scott  Brenton's 
shoulders. 

Just  at  this  epoch,  some  waggish  member  of  the 
eating  club  employed  his  camera  at  their  expense. 
The  resultant  film,  in  after  weeks,  became  one  of  the 
most  popular  assets  of  the  class.  True,  the  needful 
haste  had  caused  the  camera  to  tip  a  little.  None  the 
less,  what  the  picture  lacked  in  composition,  it  made 
up  in  clearness  and  in  vitality.  Taken  solely  as  a 


48  THE    BRENTONS 

study  of  contrasting  types,  it  was  of  no  small  socio 
logical  value,  since  it  proved  past  all  gainsaying  that 
the  absolute  democracy  of  a  great  college  can  bring 
into  close  relationship  the  most  impossibly  diver 
gent  natures. 

Scott,  at  this  time,  was  thin  and  lean.  His  shoul 
ders  were  bowed  a  little  with  the  strain  of  unceasing 
work  and  worry ;  in  his  more  self-conscious  moments, 
he  shambled  when  he  walked.  Only  moderately  tall, 
clothed  in  ill-cut  garments  which  he  wore  as  uneasily 
as  possible,  his  immature  young  figure  was  not  one 
to  call  out  much  admiration  on  the  score  of  its  viril 
ity.  Indeed,  the  one  really  virile  thing  about  Scott 
Brenton  was  his  hair,  which  sprang  out  strongly 
from  his  scalp,  fine,  but  thick  and  just  a  little  wavy 
where  it  lay  across  his  crown.  His  head  was  well- 
shaped,  only  that  it  was  a  bit  too  high  above  the 
ears,  the  brow  a  bit  too  salient;  the  eyes  alone, 
though,  at  that  time,  redeemed  from  hopeless  medi 
ocrity  his  worn,  ill-nourished  face.  Beside  his  hips, 
his  hands  dangled  limply,  showing  a  stretch  of  un 
clothed  wrist  sticking  out  below  the  shrunken  coat 
sleeves. 

Beside  him  in  the  picture,  Reed  Opdyke  strode 
lightly,  still,  to  all  seeming,  the  "  puffic'  fibbous  " 
that  his  nurse  had  dubbed  him.  Six  feet  tall,  lean 
and  supple  as  a  deerhound  and  as  totally  unconscious 
of  his  long,  slim  body,  it  was  impossible  to  fancy  him 
as  ever  being  betrayed  into  an  awkward  motion. 
Above  his  straight,  slim  shoulders,  his  curly  brown 
head  rose  proudly,  his  thin  lips  smiled  a  greeting  to 
all  the  world  around  him,  his  brown  eyes  looked 
straight  and  true  into  the  eyes  of  every  man  he 


THE    BRENTONS  49 

chanced  to  meet.  Only  his  sense  of  humour  and  his 
comfortable  smattering  of  original  sin  could  have 
saved  Reed  Opdyke  from  being  insupportable. 
Beauty  like  his,  albeit  manly,  is  bound  to  be  a  cer 
tain  handicap. 


CHAPTER    FIVE 

IT  was  to  Reed  Opdyke's  influence  that  Scott  owed 
the  encouraging  plaudits  of  his  chemistry  professor. 

In  an  elective  system  which,  at  that  time,  was  still 
left  quite  unmodified,  Scott  had  happened  upon  the 
chemistry  class  by  way  of  filling  up  his  courses  for 
his  sophomore  year.  He  had  been  going  on  with  it 
indifferently  for  some  months,  when  Opdyke  had  been 
transferred  to  his  division.  Up  to  that  time,  Scott 
had  liked  the  class  but  temperately ;  that  is,  although 
it  had  seemed  to  him  a  useless  frill  upon  the  garment 
of  his  education,  he  did  not  dislike  it  in  the  least, 
and  he  had  made  a  fair  showing  in  his  recitations. 

Opdyke's  coming  into  his  division  had  changed  all 
that.  At  first,  Scott  merely  had  been  possessed  by 
a  fury  of  desire  to  shine  before  his  idol's  eyes.  A 
little  later  on,  Opdyke's  manifest,  albeit  rather  casual, 
interest  in  the  subject  had  led  Scott  to  revise  his 
earlier  notions  carefully,  to  decide  that  there  might 
be  something  in  it,  after  all.  By  the  beginning  of 
his  junior  year,  Scott  had  won  the  tardy  attention 
of  the  head  of  the  department.  By  the  beginning 
of  the  Christmas  holidays  of  that  junior  year,  the 
head  of  the  department  had  felt  it  his  plain  duty  to 
explain  to  Scott  that  the  road  ahead  of  him  was  likely 
to  be  an  open  one  and  easy.  If  he  kept  on  as  he  had 


THE    BRENTONS  51 

begun,  in  time  he  might  be  head  of  a  department  on 
his  own  account.  Absurd  for  a  fellow  with  a  mind 
like  his  to  be  spending  his  time  over  rhetoric  and  the 
classics !  Science  was  his  line,  pure  science ;  above 
all,  chemistry. 

And  Scott  had  listened  in  silence,  at  first  too  much 
astounded  by  the  unexpected  verdict  to  make  answer. 
Then,  as  the  head  of  the  department  left  off  pre 
dicting  and  fell  to  making  plans,  Scott  plucked  up 
courage  to  tell  of  the  ministerial  career  supposedly 
ahead  of  him.  The  professor,  downright  and  enthu 
siastic  in  his  utterances,  pooh-poohed  the  entire  min 
isterial  idea.  Nonsense !  Absurd !  Spoil  a  chemist 
to  make  a  parson !  Preposterous !  Any  one  could 
preach,  if  he  tried.  Not  one  man  in  a  dozen  could 
even  make  a  quantitative  analysis  tally  up,  and  get 
anywhere  near  as  much  material  out  of  it  as  went 
in.  Waste  on  flourishing  gestures  those  lithe  hands 
that  were  so  obviously  created  for  the  manipulation 
of  such  delicate  things  as  balances  and  test-tubes  and 
the  like !  It  was  impossible.  Scott  must  take  the 
other  idea  home  with  him  and  think  it  over  carefully, 
during  the  coming  holidays. 

And  Scott  did  take  the  idea  home  with  him ;  but, 
from  the  first,  he  found  it  out  of  the  question  to 
think  it  over  carefully.  How  could  he,  when,  within 
himself,  he  knew  that  his  feeling  for  the  profession 
laid  down  before  him  by  ancestral  tradition  and  by 
his  mother's  constant  urgings :  that  his  feeling  for 
the  ministry  was  a  perfunctory  affection,  a  wholly 
different  matter  from  the  passionate  desire  that 
throbbed  within  him  at  the  thought  of  giving  up  his 
life  to  scientific  study.  To  preach  ancient  beliefs 


52  THE    BRENTONS 

that  no  human  power  could  verify,  or  to  work  on 
steadily,  helping  to  broaden  the  field  of  truth,  and 
proving  all  things  as  he  went  along:  these  were  the 
alternatives.  Obviously  there  could  be  no  compari 
son  between  them. 

Scott  took  the  idea  home  with  him,  as  Professor 
Mansfield  had  advised  him.  All  those  first  days  at 
home,  he  hugged  the  idea  tight,  tight,  caressed  it, 
gloated  over  it  in  secret,  but  allowed  no  one,  not 
even  Catie,  to  share  it  with  him.  Before  he  went 
back  again  to  college,  he  would  show  it  to  his  mother, 
would  allow  her  to  share  his  ecstasy  at  the  new 
opportunity  opened  out  before  him.  Not  yet,  how 
ever.  For  the  first  time  in  all  his  life,  Scott  Bren- 
ton  was  seriously  in  love.  He  gave  to  this  new 
vision  a  fervent  passion  such  as  Catie  had  been 
powerless  to  arouse;  like  all  young  lovers,  he  de 
sired  a  little  time  to  revel  in  secret  over  the  mere 
fact  that  he  knew  he  was  in  love. 

Of  his  mother's  consent  to  the  change  of  plan, 
Scott  Brenton  felt  no  doubt.  Little  by  little,  with 
his  growth  towards  manhood,  Scott  had  come  to 
dominate  his  mother  more  than  either  of  them  real 
ized.  His  very  repression,  his  subordination  in  all 
his  other  relationships,  helped  towards  this  end.  It 
was  but  a  natural  reaction  from  his  servile  position 
when  away  from  home  that,  once  more  at  home,  he 
should  assert  himself  as  potential  master  of  the 
house.  His  virile  will  was  dormant,  crushed,  but  it 
was  by  no  means  dead.  And  his  mother,  adoring 
him  and  idealizing  him  despite  her  maternal  qualms 
on  his  account,  yielded  herself  readily  enough  to  his 
domination.  And  then,  all  at  once,  her  yielding  came 


THE    BRENTONS  53 

to  a  sudden  end  against  the  bed  rock  of  her  char 
acter.  Her  own  ambition,  Scott's  ultimate  salvation, 
alike  forbade  him  to  renounce  his  ministerial  career. 

After  all,  though,  it  was  one  of  the  pitched  battles 
that  settle  themselves  without  the  final  appeal  to 
arms.  On  that  winter  night  when  Scott  had  come 
in,  buoyantly  alive  and  hopeful,  to  be  met  upon  the 
threshold  by  his  mother's  prayer,  the  boy  had  real 
ized  that  the  fight  was  on.  Next  morning,  over  the 
plate  of  sausages,  the  crisis  came,  and  went.  Con 
trary  to  all  his  expectations,  Scott  left  the  table 
vanquished,  his  light  of  hope  gone  out  for  ever.  It 
was  a  meagre  consolation  that,  in  thinking  back  upon 
the  matter  afterwards,  he  could  take  to  himself  the 
credit  of  having  spoken  no  word  which  could  ever 
fester  in  his  mother's  mind. 

He  had  gone  up  to  his  room  to  lock  the  door  and 
then  to  stand  long  at  the  window,  staring  with  un 
seeing  eyes  down  into  the  village  street.  By  good 
rights,  he  should  have  seen  one  future,  if  not  the 
other,  opening  out  before  him  in  ever-widening  vistas. 
At  nineteen  or  so,  however,  one  is  not  too  imagina 
tive.  Scott  merely  saw  a  vagrant  dog  trying  to  paw 
his  way  through  a  deep  drift  that  lay  across  the 
road.  He  had  a  fellow  feeling  for  the  dog,  when 
he  gave  up  his  effort  and,  sitting  down  in  the  ruins 
of  his  tunnel,  abandoned  himself  to  the  contempla 
tion  of  a  flea. 

After  a  while,  he  gave  up  his  moody  drumming 
on  the  pane,  turned  his  back  to  the  bleak  perspective 
and,  seizing  his  hat,  departed  in  search  of  Catie.  He 
found  Catie  mending  a  tear  in  the  new  frock  she 
had  worn,  the  night  before,  and  unsympathetic  in 


54  THE    BRENTONS 

proportion  to  her  discontent.  The  hollowness  of  the 
world  was  all  about  him,  when  he  went  back  to  col 
lege,  three  days  later. 

His  first  intention  had  been  to  throw  over  all  his 
scientific  study  once  for  all.  Forbidden  the  whole 
loaf,  why  whet  his  appetite  by  nibbling  at  the  one 
slice  offered  him?  His  common  sense,  however,  aided 
by  the  urging  of  Professor  Mansfield,  restored  him  to 
his  reason.  Scott  had  lost  no  time  at  all  in  making  a 
clean  breast  of  the  matter  to  Professor  Mansfield: 
his  mother's  dreams  for  him,  her  prejudices,  his  own 
choice  and  his  renouncing  of  it  all  for  the  sake  of 
what  his  mother  had  already  given  up  for  him.  To 
his  colleagues,  the  old  professor  expressed  himself 
with  plain  profanity.  To  Scott,  he  took  a  gentler 
tone,  spoke  with  appreciation  of  a  mother  such  as 
Mrs.  Brenton  must  be,  spoke  of  the  ministerial  pro 
fession  with  an  admiration  he  was  far  from  feeling, 
and  then  craftily  suggested  to  his  favourite  student 
that  the  preaching  of  the  gospel  should  go  hand  in 
hand  with  scientific  truth.  In  these  modern  days,  a 
clergyman  should  be  fully  abreast  of  scientific 
thought.  Best  keep  on  with  his  chemistry.  It  might 
be  useful  to  him,  later  on.  Even  eternal  brimstone 
was  susceptible  of  analysis. 

Then,  an  instant  later,  the  old  professor  could 
have  bitten  out  his  tongue  for  his  unholy  jest.  His 
penitence  was  in  no  wise  lessened  by  the  quality  of 
Scott's  answering  laugh.  Best  leave  those  fellows 
to  their  ministerial  sackcloth,  without  questioning 
the  quality  of  the  flax  from  which  it  was  spun.  A 
man  of  Scott  Brenton's  calibre  would  do  no  harm 
by  his  preaching.  What  was  the  sense  of  seeking 


THE    BRENTONS  55 

to  upset  any  orthodox  beliefs  he  might  happen  to 
have  inherited?  Besides,  as  long  as  Scott  kept  up 
his  sciences,  he  was  reasonably  sure  of  keeping  up 
his  common  sense  and,  what  was  a  long  way  more 
important,  his  perspective  and  his  sense  of  fun. 

Despite  his  disappointed  resolutions  to  dismiss  the 
boy  from  his  mind,  the  old  professor,  going  his 
chemical  way,  worried  about  Scott.  It  seemed  to 
him,  according  to  his  bald  phrasing,  to  be  a  cruel 
waste  of  good  material  to  make  a  parson  out  of 
what  might  have  been  a  great  explorer,  for,  to  Pro 
fessor  Mansfield's  mind,  the  incomplete  and  lengthen 
ing  list  of  elements  was  just  as  reasonable  a  field  for 
exploration  as  was  the  Antarctic  Continent,  or  Dark 
est  Africa.  The  results,  indeed,  of  such  exploration 
were  bound  to  be  a  great  deal  the  more  useful.  The 
professor  worried.  In  time,  he  laid  his  worries  on 
the  dinner  table  before  Reed  Opdyke  whose  father 
had  been  a  classmate  of  his  own. 

"  It 's  an  awful  shame  about  young  Brenton,"  he 
observed,  when  he  and  Opdyke  and  the  tobacco  had 
been  left  to  themselves. 

"  What  about  him  ?  "  Opdyke  questioned  carelessly, 
as  he  picked  up  a  match. 

"  That  he  has  talents  of  his  own,  and  a  conscience 
that  belongs  to  his  mother.  I  believe  in  mothers, 
Reed;  yours  is  a  wonderful  woman.  But,  in  this 
case,  I  doubt  the  wonder,  and  I  deplore  the  way  she 
keeps  her  thumb  on  Brenton." 

"  You  think  she  does  ?  " 

"  I  know  it.  Her  confounded  theories  of  sanctity 
are  putting  a  binding  around  all  his  brain,  a  tight 
binding  that  is  going  to  shrink  and  cause  a  pucker. 


56  THE    BRENTONS 

Brenton  has  a  first-class  scientific  mind,  granted  it 
gets  the  training.  Left  to  himself  and  the  divinity 
school,  he  '11  turn  into  a  perfect  ass  as  preacher." 

Opdyke  shook  his  head. 

"  Nothing  so  possible  as  that,  I  'm  afraid,"  he 
contradicted.  "He'll  just  settle  down  on  his  heels, 
and  shuffle  along  in  —  "  He  hesitated  for  a  finish 
of  his  phrase. 

The  professor  supplied  it,  and  ruthlessly. 

"  Mental  carpet  slippers.  Precisely.  And  I  could 
give  him  boots  and  spurs." 

"  Why  don't  you  do  it,  then  ?  "  Opdyke  asked  him 
bluntly. 

In  the  interest  of  the  subject,  the  old  professor 
forgot  that  he  was  talking  to  one  of  his  students  and 
about  another. 

"  Because  he  's  got  the  very  devil  of  a  conscience, 
and  won't  let  me.  There  is  a  widowed  mother  in  the 
background,  and  a  perfect  retinue  of  preaching  an 
cestors,  whole  dozens  of  them  and  all  Baptists,  and 
they  have  conspired  to  poison  the  boy's  mind  with 
the  notion  that  it 's  up  to  him  to  preach,  too.  It 
would  be  all  right,  if  he  had  anything  to  say ;  but  he 
has  n't.  He 's  tongue-tied  and  unmagnetic  at  the 
best ;  what 's  more,  he  has  learned  too  many  things 
to  let  him  flaunt  abroad  the  old  beliefs  as  battle 
standards.  He  's  gone  too  far,  and  not  far  enough. 
His  life  is  bound  to  be  a  miserable  sort  of  compro 
mise,  a  species  of  battledore  and  shuttlecock  arrange 
ment  between  the  limits  of  the  deep  sea  and  the 
devil."  And  then  the  professor  pulled  himself  up 
short.  "Know  him?"  he  queried  curtly,  as  he  lit 
his  match. 


THE    BRENTONS  57 

Opdyke  nodded. 

"  As  one  does  know  people  one  never  meets  out 
anywhere,"  he  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that? "  The  question 
was  still  curt. 

"  He  waits  at  my  joint." 

"Of  course.     And?" 

Opdyke  laughed. 

"  How  do  you  know  there  is  an  and,  Professor?  " 
he  asked  easily. 

"  Because  I  know  you,  and  because  I  've  heard 
of  *  Reed's  parson.'  You  're  your  father's  own  son, 
Reed.  You  never  could  get  a  starveling  like  Scott 
Brenton  out  of  sight  of  your  conscience.  How  much 
have  you  seen  of  him?  " 

"  Not  much."     And  Opdyke  gave  a  few  details. 

The  professor  nodded  thoughtfully.     Then,  — 

"See  more,"  he  ordered;  "any  amount  more. 
You  have  time  enough,  you  lazy  young  sinner,  and 
I  '11  be  answerable  for  all  the  consequences." 

Opdyke  yielded  to  his  curiosity. 

"What  kind  of  consequences?" 

"  The  inevitable  kind  that  follow  all  you  young 
sters.  Listen,  boy.  Brenton  is  a  mixture  of  genius, 
and  prig,  and  ignorant  young  hermit;  or,  rather, 
he  has  the  elements  all  inside  him,  ready  to  be  mixed. 
You  '11  have  to  do  the  mixing." 

"I?"  Opdyke  looked  startled.  "  Professor,  what 
a  beast  of  a  bore !  " 

"  No  matter  if  it  is.  I  believe  in  the  conservation 
of  all  latent  energy.  Brenton's  is  all  latent,  and  I 
count  on  you  to  do  the  conserving.  I  've  been  ask 
ing  questions  lately.  From  all  accounts,  you  are 


58  THE    BRENTONS 

the  only  man  in  college  but  myself  who  has  taken 
the  pains  to  get  inside  the  poor  beggar's  shell." 

"  Hm.  Well?  "  Opdyke's  eyes  were  on  the  smoke 
in  front  of  him;  but,  to  the  older  man,  it  was  plain 
that  he  was  listening  intently. 

"  Now  you  've  got  to  go  to  work  to  get  him  out 
of  his  shell,  so  that  people  can  see  what  he  is  like 
and,  more  than  that,  so  that  he  can  find  out  what 
people  really  are.  He  has  no  more  knowledge  of 
humanity  than  a  six-months  puppy ;  in  fact,  he 
has  n't  so  much.  And  —  he  's  —  got  —  to  —  learn." 
The  words  came  weightily. 

"  What 's  the  good  ?  "  Opdyke  asked  lazily. 

The  reply  was  unexpected,  even  to  him  who  knew 
Professor  Mansfield's  downright  ways. 

"  To  teach  him  what  an  ass  he  really  is.  Till  he 
finds  that  out  —  till  you  all  find  it  out  about  your 
selves,  there  's  not  much  hope  for  any  of  you." 

Opdyke  flushed. 

"  Thanks,"  he  said  a  little  shortly. 

Bending  across  the  table,  the  old  professor  laid 
a  friendly  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Don't  be  huffy,  Reed.  A  few  of  you  take  in  the 
knowledge  with  your  mother's  milk.  That 's  what 
saves  society,  by  marking  it  off  into  separate  classes, 
what  makes  the  difference  between  your  father's  son, 
and  the  strenuous  scion  of  fifty  ministerial  Wheelers. 
But,  because  you  've  already  got  it,  you  owe  all  the 
more  to  the  poor  chaps  who  have  n't." 

"  Yes,  sir."  Opdyke's  reply  came  with  dutiful 
promptness,  although  it  was  plain  to  the  professor 
that  he  had  flown  quite  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
young  mind  before  him.  "  What  do  you  want  me 
to  do  with  him,  though?  " 


THE    BRENTONS  59 

The  professor's  eyes  twinkled,  as  he  dragged  him 
self  back  to  the  practical  aspects  of  the  case. 

"  Coax  him  out  of  his  shell.  If  he  won't  come, 
then  haul  him  out  by  the  ears.  Have  him  in  your 
room  and  have  some  other  men  in  there  to  meet  him. 
Take  him  about  with  you.  Take  him  to  Mory's,  on 
a  thick  night  there.  Show  him  life,  the  way  you 
know  it.  If  you  must,  show  him  an  occasional  siren. 
I  can  say  this  to  you,  Reed,  because  I  have  taken 
pains  to  find  out  that  your  sirens  are  pretty  decent 
ones,  cleaner  than  most  of  them.  To  sum  it  up,  let 
Scott  Brenton  see  life  as  you  are  living  it,  not  as 
he  imagines  it  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  man 
who  never  can  do  anything  but  sit  back  in  a  corner 
and  look  on." 

Opdyke  filled  his  pipe  anew,  puffed  at  it  silently, 
then  spoke. 

"  Beastly  tantalizing  thing  to  do,"  he  said.  "  What 
in  thunder  is  the  use?  " 

The  profesor  spoke  with  sudden  fervour. 

"  Much !  "  he  said.  "  At  least,  it  will  teach  him, 
when  he  's  preaching  for  the  Lord,  to  remember  that 
Mammon  is  n't  always  quite  so  black  as  he  is 
painted." 

And  so,  on  top  of  Reed  Opdyke's  other  interests, 
Professor  Mansfield  laid  the  burden  of  Scott  Bren- 
ton's  worldly  training.  In  pointing  out  the  need  of 
it  to  Opdyke,  however,  the  old  professor  had  been 
by  no  means  as  downright  as  he  seemed.  From 
above  his  lecture  notes  and  his  blowpipes,  he  kept 
keen  eyes  upon  the  members  of  his  classes.  Watch 
ing  Scott  steadily,  in  those  days  which  followed  upon 
the  boy's  bitter  disappointment,  he  had  seen  new 


60  THE    BRENTONS 

lines  graving  themselves  about  his  lips,  lines  of  de 
cision  now,  not  of  worried  mal-nutrition,  lines  that 
too  easily  might  shape  themselves  to  wilfulness. 
Scott,  recluse  that  he  had  been,  had  also  been  as 
steady  as  a  deacon;  but  the  old  professor  realized 
that  a  reaction  might  come  at  almost  any  instant. 
One  outlet,  and  that  the  highest  one,  forbidden  him, 
he  might  seek  other,  lower  ones  in  sheer  bravado. 
Forbidden  to  climb  into  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  of 
all  Good,  he  might,  in  revenge,  fall  greedily  upon 
the  Apples  of  Sodom.  Left  to  himself,  no  one  knew 
what  harpies  he  might  chance  upon  as  comrades,  nor 
what  sights  they  might  show  him.  To  prevent  all 
that,  to  provide  him  with  an  outlet  which  should  be 
as  wholesome  as  it  was  fresh  and  sparkling,  the  pro 
fessor  had  given  him  into  the  safe  hands  of  Reed 
Opdyke.  It  was  as  he  said :  he  was  quite  well  aware 
that,  although  Reed  had  his  sirens,  they  all  were 
curiously  clean  ones ;  in  short,  that  his  young  Mam 
mon  was  nobler  far  than  many  a  senile  God. 


CHAPTER    SIX 

As  a  matter  of  course,  Catie  came  to  Scott's 
commencement.  Had  she  answered  sincerely  to  any 
questions  put  to  her,  she  would  have  confessed  to 
a  two-fold  purpose:  the  showing  off  of  her  proprie 
torship  in  Scott,  and  the  showing  off  of  her  pair  of 
new  frocks,  the  most  elaborate  achievements  as  yet 
attempted  by  the  village  dressmaker.  It  must  be 
confessed,  however,  that  Catie  found  both  of  these 
deeds  a  little  disillusioning.  Scott  was  so  busy  in 
so  many  ways  that  he  seemed  to  Catie  to  spare  her 
only  the  smaller  fragments  of  his  time;  and  her  two 
new  gowns,  which  at  home  had  been  tried  on  amid 
the  plaudits  of  the  girl  friends  bidden  to  the  private 
view,  sank  into  insignificance  beside  the  round  dozen 
or  more  frocks  which  each  of  the  other  commence 
ment  guests  was  wearing  in  bewildering  succession. 
To  be  sure,  Catie's  gowns  had  the  most  trimming  on 
them;  but  her  satisfaction  in  that  fact  was  some 
what  modified  by  the  discovery  that  all  her  trimming 
was  running  the  wrong  way. 

Nevertheless,  Catie  enjoyed  some  happy  hours,  de 
spite  the  chilling  disappointment  of  finding  her  frocks 
inadequate.  It  would  have  been  nicer,  of  course,  not 
to  discover  too  late  that  she  lacked  the  proper  gown 
for  any  especial  function ;  nicer  to  have  seen  her- 


62  THE    BRENTONS 

self,  as  she  saw  some  other  girls,  girls  not  nearly 
so  pretty  as  herself,  attended,  not  by  one  swain  only, 
but  surrounded  by  a  laughing,  eager  dozen.  Still, 
there  were  compensations,  chaperons  among  them. 
Catie's  expressed  regrets  were  wholly  perfunctory, 
whenever  Mrs.  Brenton  confessed  that  she  was  tired 
and  needed  to  lie  down. 

For  Mrs.  Brenton  also  had  come  to  Scott's  com 
mencement  which,  to  her  mind,  was  the  crowning  event 
of  her  own  lifetime.  Not  only  that,  but  somehow  or 
other  she  had  squeezed  out  the  money  to  buy  herself 
a  new  black  silk  gown,  the  first  one  since  her  mar 
riage,  more  than  twenty  years  before.  Moreover,  in 
deference  to  the  prevailing  styles,  she  explained  to 
Scott  on  her  way  up  from  the  station,  she  had  had 
it  made  to  hook  up  in  the  back  above  a  little  black 
lace  tucker.  Scott,  as  a  matter  of  course,  did  not 
know  a  tucker  from  a  turnip.  None  the  less,  he 
nodded  his  approval.  That  same  evening,  he  con 
fessed  to  himself  a  moderate  degree  of  pride,  when 
he  introduced  Reed  Opdyke  to  his  mother.  Mrs. 
Brenton  might  lack  certain  social  frills  and  furbe 
lows  ;  but  no  one  could  look  into  her  honest  face 
above  the  trim  little  black  lace  tucker,  without  real 
izing  that  she  was  of  good,  old-fashioned  stock  which 
never  would  degenerate.  No  one  but  a  lady  born 
could  take  herself  so  simply.  Scott  read  Opdyke's 
approval  in  his  eyes,  the  while  he  himself  stood  apart 
and  talked  to  Catie. 

It  was  when  young  Opdyke's  eyes  passed  on  to 
rest  on  Catie,  though,  that  Scott  felt  certain  doubts, 
lately  risen  up  within  him,  crystallize  and  solidify 
past  all  gainsaying.  Outwardly,  Opdyke's  manner 


THE    BRENTONS  63 

was  respect  itself ;  but  there  was  an  odd  little  twinkle 
in  his  eyes,  as  he  gazed  down  on  the  top  of  Catie's 
flower-strewn  hat,  now  tipped  coquettishly  askew  as 
the  girl  turned  her  head  sidewise  and  upward  to 
speak  to  her  tall  companion.  Catie  was  pretty,  of 
course;  but  was  she  quite  —  well  —  right?  Were 
her  manners,  like  the  cut  and  colour  of  her  garments, 
a  thought  too  pronounced  and  noticeable?  Was  her 
voice  a  little  bit  too  loud,  her  manner  too  assured? 
Or  was  it  that  those  other  girls  beside  her  elbow  were 
effete  and  colourless?  Scott  struggled  to  repress  his 
doubts,  while  he  watched  the  gay  assurance  with  which 
Catie  answered  to  Reed  Opdyke's  chaff.  Scott  was 
perfectly  well  aware  that  Opdyke  would  not  have 
chaffed  some  of  those  other  girls  upon  such  short 
acquaintance,  and  the  surety  made  him  restless.  He 
took  it  out  in  wishing  that  Catie  had  not  adorned 
her  girlish  neck  with  a  gilded  chain  which  could  have 
restrained  a  bulldog,  or  a  convict. 

Then  he  pulled  himself  up  short.  Catie  was  Catie, 
and  his  guest.  She  would  have  fought  for  him  on 
any  issue,  and  downed  any  number  of  foes  in  the 
fighting.  To  Mrs.  Brenton,  she  was  as  dear  as  any 
daughter,  dear  as  the  daughter  that  she  meant  one 
day  to  be.  Besides,  who  was  he,  a  self-help  student 
temporarily  excused  from  waiting  upon  table  and 
attired  in  a  misfit  evening  coat  hired  from  a  ghetto 
tailor:  who  was  he  to  criticise  the  flowers  and  frills 
of  Catie?  If  she  had  had  the  chances  which  had 
come  to  him,  if  she  could  have  gone  to  Smith,  for 
instance,  or  Bryn  Mawr,  she  would  have  come  out 
of  the  mill  a  finished  little  product,  clever,  adaptable, 
and  not  a  gawky,  under-nourished,  over-strenuous 


64  THE    BRENTONS 

bumpkin  like  himself.  In  the  depths  of  his  self-abase 
ment,  Scott  Brenton  did  not  hesitate  to  ply  himself 
with  ugly  adjectives.  Indeed,  they  seemed  to  him 
to  be  doing  something  towards  the  removal  of  his 
doubts  concerning  Catie's  pinchbeck  chain. 

Later,  as  it  chanced,  Reed  Opdyke  and  Scott  Bren 
ton  found  themselves  going  up  the  street  together. 

"  It 's  all  hours,  I  suppose,"  Opdyke  said  rather 
indistinctly  through  a  mammoth  yawn.  "  Still,  Bren 
ton,  what  if  it  is?  Come  along  to  Mory's." 

"  Too  late,"  Scott  objected,  with  a  guilty  recol 
lection  of  his  mother  who  would  have  wrestled  in 
prayer,  all  night  long,  could  she  have  seen  her  son's 
steps  turn  towards  Mory's  and  at  the  bacchanalian 
hour  of  half-past  ten. 

But  Opdyke's  hand  was  on  his  watch. 

"  Not  a  bit.  Besides,  it 's  our  last  chance,  you 
know." 

"  Till  next  year,"  Scott  corrected,  though  he 
yielded  to  the  hand  upon  his  arm. 

Opdyke  shook  his  head. 

"  No  next  year  about  it,  Brenton.  That 's  all 
off." 

"What  now?"  Scott  asked  him  in  some  surprise, 
for  it  had  been  an  understood  thing  that  Opdyke 
took  his  graduate  science  courses  in  the  university 
that  was  giving  him  his  bachelor's  degree. 

"  The  ancestral  crank  has  slipped  a  cog,"  Opdyke 
returned  profanely.  "  Being  interpreted,  my  rev 
erend  sire  thinks  I  'd  do  better  work  at  the  School 
of  Mines  and  then  in  Europe.  I  'm  sorry,  too,  con 
found  it,  even  if  I  know  his  head  is  level.  I  'd  been 
looking  forward  to  the  pleasure  of  romping  along 


THE    BRENTONS  65 

here  for  another  year  or  two,  and  watching  you  get 
changed  into  a  parson.  It  would  have  been  well 
worth  my  while,  too.  It  is  n't  every  sinner  like 
myself  that  has  the  chance  to  see  a  saint  in  the  mak 
ing.  I  should  have  found  it  an  edifying  spectacle." 
Then  suddenly  he  broke  off,  and  spoke  with  obvious 
sincerity.  "Hang  it  all,  Scott!  What's  the  use? 
Chuck  theology,  and  come  along  with  me  and  be 
some  sort  of  an  engineer,  or  else  the  chemist  old 
Mansfield  has  set  his  heart  on  making  out  of  you." 

As  he  spoke,  his  hand  tightened  on  Scott's  arm. 
Under  the  street  light  beside  them,  he  could  see  the 
colour  rush  into  the  face  of  his  companion,  as  if  in 
answer  to  the  touch  and  the  appeal;  could  see  the 
thin  lips  waver,  then  set  themselves  into  a  stern, 
hard  line.  Then,  — 

"  It  would  break  my  mother's  heart,"  Scott  said 
gravely. 

Instantly  Opdyke  flung  up  his  head  and  relaxed 
the  pressure  of  his  hand. 

"  Then  —  last  call  for  science !  "  he  said,  with  a 
carelessness  which  did  not  quite  ring  true.  "  Your 
mother  is  worth  the  sacrifice,  Brenton.  I  saw  that 
for  myself,  to-night." 

It  was  not  until  they  were  settled  at  an  initial- 
hacked  table  in  the  smoke-thick  air  of  Mory's  that 
either  of  them  spoke  again.  Then  it  was  Opdyke 
who  broke  the  silence. 

"  Who 's  the  girl,  Brenton  ?  Your  Book  of 
Chronicles  has  n't  mentioned  her,  so  far  as  I 
know." 

"  She  's  —  "  Scott  hesitated,  a  little  at  a  loss  as 
to  the  proper  way  of  cataloguing  Catie. 


66  THE    BRENTONS 

Opdyke  nodded  at  the  hesitation. 

"  Ja.  I  comprehend.  Well,  she  's  a  pretty  thing, 
and  she  knows  her  good  points,"  he  answered.  "  That 
counts  a  lot,  too,  in  a  girl  like  that." 

Scott  turned  on  him  a  little  bit  pugnaciously,  the 
more  so  by  reason  of  his  own  doubts  of  an  hour 
before. 

"  Like  what  ?  "  he  queried  curtly. 

However,  Opdyke  had  no  idea  of  being  betrayed 
into  any  indiscretion. 

"  Like  her,"  he  made  tranquil  answer,  and  then 
he  bent  above  his  glass  of  beer  and  blew  aside  the 
froth.  "  She  is  sure  to  arrive,"  he  went  on,  after 
a  minute.  "  The  only  thing  I  question  is  whether 
you  may  not  have  to  hustle  a  good  deal,  to  keep  up 
with  her.  You  're  a  born  student,  Brenton,  and  a 
sanctimonious  grind.  Nevertheless,  when  it  comes 
to  the  worldly  question  of  arriving,  you  're  a  con 
foundedly  lazy  lubber,  and  I  suspect  you  always 
will  be." 

Commencement  over,  and  the  intervening  summer, 
Scott  Brenton  set  himself  to  work  to  try  to  prove 
the  falsity  of  Opdyke's  words,  by  way  of  the  divinity 
school.  Moreover,  as  in  the  case  of  Opdyke,  al 
though  in  a  wholly  different  sense,  the  parental  plans 
for  Scott  had  slipped  a  cog.  He  also  left  the  uni 
versity  behind  him,  and  went  elsewhere  in  search  of 
his  professional  degree.  The  change  of  plan,  how 
ever,  did  not  achieve  itself  without  some  tears  and 
many  lamentations  upon  the  part  of  Mrs.  Brenton. 
In  carrying  out  her  wishes  that  Scott  should  preach 
the  gospel  to  the  heathen,  it  never  had  occurred  to 
her  that  he  could  preach  any  but  the  most  azure 


THE    BRENTONS  67 

forms  of  ultra-Calvinism.  A  sudden  fading  in  the 
dye  of  his  theology  well-nigh  destroyed  all  of  her 
pleasure  in  his  preaching. 

The  change  in  tint  had  come,  to  all  appearing, 
during  the  summer  that  had  followed  his  bachelor's 
degree.  How  far,  however,  the  stability  of  the  dyes 
had  been  affected  by  Scott's  previous  experiments 
in  Professor  Mansfield's  laboratory,  it  would  be  hard 
to  say.  It  is  quite  within  the  limits  of  scientific 
possibility  that  certain  chemical  changes  might  have 
been  taking  place  for  many  months,  changes  so 
slight  and  so  slow  as  to  have  escaped  the  notice 
of  Scott  or  any  of  his  friends  who  chanced  to  feel 
an  interest  in  the  soundness  of  his  theology.  Doubt 
less  the  change  was  there,  potential,  its  elements 
held  in  suspension  and  only  waiting  for  the  final 
molecule  to  arrive  and  start  precipitation. 

The  molecule  arrived,  that  summer,  in  the  person 
of  a  curly-haired  young  expounder  of  the  Nicene 
Creed  who  came  to  spend  July  and  August  at  the 
mountain  inn  where  Scott,  after  the  fashion  of  needy 
students  New  England  over,  was  alternately  en 
gaged  in  keeping  the  books  and  sorting  up  the  mail. 
It  was  by  way  of  this  latter  function  that  Scott 
first  came  to  be  on  speaking  terms  with  the  youth 
ful  rector  of  Saint-Luke-the-Good-Physician's.  And 
the*  rector,  despite  his  four  hyphens  and  the  gold 
cross  that  dangled  on  the  front  of  his  ecclesiastical 
waistcoat,  was  an  honest,  unspoiled  boy  who  was 
quick  to  realize  the  curious  appeal  in  the  loneliness 
of  Scott,  to  realize  it  and  to  answer  to  it. 

The  early  steps  of  their  acquaintance  were  limited 
to  the  daily  handing  out  the  letters,  the  daily  thank- 


68  THE    BRENTONS 

ful  accepting  them.  Then,  one  morning,  Scott  so 
far  forgot  his  official  and  personal  manners  as  to 
comment  upon  the  familiar  imprint  of  one  of  the 
envelopes,  as  it  was  changing  hands.  He  made  in 
stant  apology ;  but  his  penitence  was  forgotten  in 
the  discovery  that  the  curly-headed  divine  was  also 
an  old  student  of  Professor  Mansfield.  The  rest  of 
the  steps  were  logical  and  consecutive,  down  to 
those  final  days  of  August  when  together,  hard 
working,  would-be  student  and  holiday-making,  pros 
perous  divine,  they  spent  Scott's  leisure  hours  afield, 
talking,  talking,  talking  of  the  things  one  only  men 
tions  to  one's  spiritual  next  of  kin. 

Before  he  left  the  mountains,  Scott's  mind  was 
made  up  definitely  to  the  step  which  was  next  before 
him.  He  knew  that  step  would  grieve  his  mother, 
would  well-nigh  break  her  heart.  None  the  less,  he 
was  resolved  to  take  it.  Indeed,  in  honour,  it  seemed 
to  him  no  other  course  was  open  to  him,  albeit,  in 
his  more  downright  moments,  he  realized  that  the 
taking  it  was  nothing  in  the  world  but  a  miserable 
sort  of  compromise  between  his  mother's  wishes  and 
his  own.  He  had  given  her  his  word  that  he  would 
be  a  preacher;  keep  his  given  word  he  must  and 
would.  Nevertheless,  preaching,  he  must  choose  for 
himself  a  gentler  sort  of  gospel  than  the  lurid,  flam 
ing  fires  delighted  in  and  set  forth  with  all  the  cun 
ning  of  word  imagery,  by  every  Parson  Wheeler  of 
his  line.  His  God  should  be  an  honest  gentleman, 
and  not  an  all-pursuing  Thing  of  Wrath. 

For  some  reason  he  would  have  been  loath  to 
analyze,  even  to  himself,  it  was  to  Catie  that  Scott 
first  announced  his  change  of  plan.  Catie  took  the 


THE    BRENTONS  69 

announcement  tranquilly.  To  her  mind,  religion  was 
something  that  one  put  on,  together  with  one's  Sun 
day  hat.  There  was  no  reason  one  of  them  should 
be  unchanging  in  form  more  than  the  other.  One's 
theology,  like  one's  brims,  should  broaden  with  the 
fashion;  the  forms  of  worship  might  as  well  grow 
high  as  the  outline  of  one's  hat-crown.  Given  the 
three  main  elements  of  best  clothes,  a  Sunday  on 
which  to  wear  them  and  an  appreciative  church  to 
wear  them  in,  and  Catie  asked  no  further  consola 
tions  of  religion.  The  tolerance  Scott  liked,  although 
he  deplored  the  cause. 

"  Lovely,  Scott !  "  Catie  said,  with  some  enthusiasm, 
when  at  last  she  had  grasped  in  its  entirety,  not 
Scott's  idea,  but  the  outward  form  in  which  it 
clothed  itself.  "  You  '11  wear  a  surplice,  then,  and 
a  purple  stripe  around  your  neck,  and  sing  the 
prayers,  like  the  man  I  saw  in  Boston.  He  had 
candles,  too,  burning  at  the  back,  beside  a  great 
brass  cross." 

Scott  shook  his  head  in  swift  negation.  As  yet, 
the  higher  forms  of  ritualism  were  totally  unknown 
to  him. 

"  That 's  Catholic,  Catie,"  he  reminded  her.  "  Of 
course,  I  sha'n't  do  that." 

"  No ;  't  was  Episcopal,"  she  contradicted.  "  It 
said  so,  on  a  sign  beside  the  door.  But,  Scott,  that 
makes  me  think  —  " 

"  Well  ?  "  he  asked,  wondering  at  her  hesitation. 

"  Would  you  mind  very  much,"  she  came  forward 
to  his  side  and  fell  to  fingering  the  top  button  of 
his  coat  caressingly ;  "  would  you  mind  it  so  very 
much  not  to  call  me  Catie  any  more?  " 


70  THE    BRENTONS 

Absorbed  as  he  was  in  his  theological  transference, 
he  had  felt  sure  that  her  request  was  on  that  self 
same  theme,  the  more  so,  even,  by  reason  of  her 
unwonted  hesitation.  In  his  extreme  surprise,  he 
laughed  a  little  at  her  question. 

"Why  not,  Catie?" 

She  held  up  a  forefinger  of  arch  admonition. 

"  There  you  go  again !  "  she  told  him,  with  mock 
petulance.  "  Do  listen  to  me,  Scott.  You  're  so 
interested  in  your  everlasting  old  churches  that  you 
have  n't  an  idea  to  spare  for  me.  I  want  you  to 
promise  that  you  won't  ever  call  me  Catie  any 
more." 

"  But  why  ?  What  shall  I  call  you  ?  "  he  inquired, 
with  masculine  and  dazed  bluntness. 

"  Catia.  It  is  ever  so  much  prettier ;  Catie  is  so 
babyish,"  she  urged  him. 

"  But,  if  it  is  your  name?  "  he  urged  in  return. 

Her  retort  came  with  unexpected  pith  and  prompt 
ness.  Moreover,  it  struck  home. 

"  So  is  the  Baptist  your  church,"  she  answered 
pertly.  "  I  guess  I  have  a  right  to  change,  as  well 
as  you." 

Mrs.  Brenton,  that  same  evening,  took  the  dis 
closure  in  quite  a  different  spirit.  To  her  mind,  the 
relaxing  of  one's  creed  spelt  ruin,  the  doorway  of 
the  church  Episcopal  was  but  the  outer  portal  of 
the  Church  of  Rome  and,  like  all  elderly  women  of 
puritanic  stock  who  have  spent  their  lives  in  a 
Protestant  community,  Mrs.  Brenton  looked  on  Rome 
as  the  last  station  but  one  upon  the  broad  road  to 
hell.  None  the  less,  she  strove  to  phrase  her  objec 
tions  as  gently  as  she  was  able.  However  misguided 


THE    BRENTONS  71 

Scott  might  be,  she  saw  that  he  was  in  earnest,  and 
upon  that  account  she  was  the  more  loath  to  hurt  him. 

"  Scott,"  she  said,  with  what  appeared  to  herself 
to  be  the  extreme  of  tolerance ;  "  if  you  must,  I 
suppose  you  must;  but  I  am  sure  that  it  will  kill 
your  grandfather." 

If  Scott,  just  then,  had  been  in  a  mood  for  theo 
logical  discussion,  he  might  have  pointed  out  to  his 
mother  the  flaw  in  the  logic  of  her  own  belief. 
Grandfather  Wheeler,  translated  into  the  glory  that 
awaits  the  faithful  servant  of  the  Lord,  in  all  surety 
should  have  been  beyond  the  danger  of  vicarious 
and  everlasting  death.  However,  Scott  was  too  much 
in  earnest,  just  then,  about  his  own  fate,  to  heed 
that  of  his  worthy  and  departed  grandsire. 

"  I  am  sorry,  mother,"  he  repeated  gravely ;  "  but 
I  am  afraid  it  is  that,  or  nothing.  All  this  sum 
mer,  perhaps  even  before,  I  have  been  thinking  things 
over.  I  '11  be  glad  to  preach.  Maybe  —  "  his  ac 
cent  was  boyish  in  its  extreme  simplicity ;  "  maybe, 
if  I  try  my  best,  I  '11  do  somebody  a  little  good. 
But,"  and  his  face  stiffened,  as  he  spoke ;  "  but  I  '11 
be  hanged  if  I  am  going  to  stand  up  in  the  pulpit 
and  say  a  whole  lot  of  things  I  don't  believe  and 
don't  want  to  believe,  just  because  Grandfather 
Wheeler  and  Great-grandfather  Wheeler  and  all 
that  tribe  did  believe  them." 

Across  his  energy,  his  growing  excitement,  Mrs. 
Brenton's  level  voice  cut  in  a  little  sternly. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  don't  believe,  my  son?  "  she 
asked  him. 

Scott  rose  to  his  feet,  took  a  turn  up  the  room, 
a  turn  down  it.  Then  he  faced  her. 


72  THE    BRENTONS 

"  I  'm  not  sure  I  even  know  that  —  yet,"  he  an 
swered.  "  I  've  got  to  find  it  out.  Honestly,  mother," 
again  there  came  a  note  of  pleading;  "  is  n't  it  about 
as  much  to  the  point  to  find  out  the  things  you 
don't  believe  as  the  things  you  do?  And  there  must 
be  some  truth,  somewhere,  that 's  worth  the  preach 
ing,  no  matter  how  many  things  you  have  to  throw 
over,  before  you  get  to  it.  It 's  that  I  'm  after  now, 
a  truth  that  is  the  truth,  that  can  be  proved.  Once 
I  get  it,  I  '11  stand  up  and  preach  it,  and  prove  it, 
too,  to  every  man  I  meet.  That 's  what  religion  's 
for.  But,  to  do  it,  I  must  go  into  a  church  which 
gives  you  a  little  leeway,  a  church  which  lets  you 
interpret  a  few  things  to  suit  yourself,  not  lays 
down  the  law  about  the  last  little  phrase  of  the 
meaning  you  are  allowed  to  put  into  them." 

Again  there  came  the  restless  pacing  of  the  room. 
This  time,  it  lasted  longer.  At  last,  though,  he 
halted  by  her  side,  and  rested  one  lean  hand  upon 
her  shoulder. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  and  now  all  boyishness  had 
fallen  away  from  him ;  "  I  am  sorry  if  this  is  going 
to  hurt  you;  but  I  can't  help  it.  Two  years  ago, 
I  told  you  I  would  study  for  the  ministry.  I  shall 
keep  my  word;  but  the  way  I  keep  it  must  be  left 
for  me  to  choose." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  resonant  purpose  in 
his  voice.  Recognizing  it?  his  mother  yielded  to  it 
of  necessity.  As  quietly  as  possible,  she  accepted 
the  choice  that  he  had  made,  and  then  she  went 
away  to  her  own  room.  A  half-hour  later,  kneeling 
beside  her  bed,  she  lost  herself  in  supplication  on 
behalf  of  those  who  bow  the  knee  to  Baal. 


CHAPTER    SEVEN 

IN  the  fulness  of  time,  Scott  married  Catie.  To 
put  the  case  more  accurately,  albeit  in  less  lovely 
phrase,  Scott  was  married  by  Catie.  From  start  to 
finish,  Catie  was  the  active  force  in  whatever  wooing 
achieved  itself,  the  active  force  which  swept  down 
on  and  annexed  a  passive  principle. 

From  the  start,  their  courtship  lacked  most  of  the 
hallmarks  of  that  tender  process.  There  were  few 
endearments,  fewer  still  of  the  half-told,  half-guessed 
confidences  which,  by  their  very  fragmentary  nature 
only  serve  to  add  emphasis  to  a  comprehension  that 
can  construct  a  living,  vital  intimacy  out  of  such 
slight  materials.  Indeed,  there  was  no  especial  effort 
at  spiritual  comprehension  between  them.  Instead, 
their  unsentimental  wooing  was  a  sort  of  amatory 
bargain  day  for  Catie,  who  must  have  the  best  sort 
of  husband  to  be  found  on  the  domestic  market. 
For  Scott,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  the  bored  ac 
quiescence  of  a  man  too  full  of  other  dreams  and 
hopes  and  even  concrete  plannings  to  regard  the 
choosing  of  a  wife  as  more  important  than  the  selec 
tion  of  his  next-morning's  steak.  His  mother  had 
impressed  upon  him  that  Catie  would  be  the  best 
wife  possible  for  him.  The  professors  in  the  divin 
ity  school  had  laid  some  strees  upon  the  advantage 


74  THE    BRENTONS 

of  their  clergy's  marrying  young.  Therefore  Scott 
Brenton  dutifully  took  to  himself  a  wife,  without 
the  slightest  previous  notion  of  what  domestic  in 
tercourse  was  bound  to  mean. 

Notwithstanding  the  education  given  him  by  Reed 
Opdyke  and  his  pseudo  sirens,  young  Scott  Brenton 
was  singularly  ignorant  of  the  elements  that  go  into 
the  making  of  almost  any  woman,  singularly  igno 
rant  regarding  all  the  practical  details  of  wedded 
life.  Of  course,  he  knew  his  mother  well;  but  she 
seemed  to  him  a  little  bit  archaic.  Besides,  he  knew 
her  only  as  a  thing  apart  from  all  other  human  re 
lations,  as  an  isolated  personality  whose  one  point 
of  contact  was  with  himself.  The  society  of  a 
woman  who  parted  her  hair  straight  down  the  middle 
of  her  head  and  who  quoted  Job  at  breakfast  was  not 
a  perfect  preparation  for  modern  domestic  life. 

As  for  Catie,  or  Catia,  as  she  now  called  herself, 
she  was  modern  enough,  distressingly  so  sometimes. 
Nevertheless,  analyzed,  she  would  not  have  seemed 
to  Scott  at  all  domestic.  She  was  too  much  wrapped 
up  in  her  own  personal  concerns,  too  uncomprehend 
ing  in  a  spiritual  crisis.  Domesticity,  to  be  prac 
tical,  must  consist  of  something  else  than  mere  ability 
to  keep  a  house  and  to  extract  from  the  butcher  the 
best  cuts  obtainable  for  one's  income.  One's  spirit 
ual  bric-a-brac  must  be  taken  down  and  dusted  with 
just  as  careful  reverence  as  one  shows  the  glass 
things  on  one's  mantel.  Catia  could  cut  her  own 
cloth  up  into  pieces,  and  then  sew  up  the  pieces  into 
quite  presentable  garments ;  she  could  make  good 
coffee  and  cook  lamb  chops  to  perfection;  but,  that 
done,  she  could  not  sit  down  of  an  evening  and  fling 


THE    BRENTONS  75 

herself,  heart  and  soul,  into  the  interests  of  her 
husband's  life. 

Of  this,  as  yet,  Scott  Brenton  was  mercifully  igno 
rant.  He  might  have  known  it ;  but,  unhappily, 
he  never  had  found  it  altogether  worth  his  while  to 
meditate  very  much  upon  the  question.  He  passed 
by  Catia  as  an  established  fact;  he  left  her  quite 
unanalyzed.  Instead,  he  turned  the  whole  force  of 
his  analytic  power  upon  the  needs  of  his  profession, 
without  in  the  least  realizing  that,  in  the  case  of 
a  married  man,  professional  acumen  and  efficiency 
depend  a  good  deal  upon  the  quality  of  his  domestic 
atmosphere.  Later  on,  he  was  destined  to  find  out 
that  a  family  jar  at  breakfast,  a  discussion  born 
of  a  muddy  cup  of  coffee  or  a  sticky  muffin,  can 
wreck  the  fervour  of  a  sermon  born  of  a  week  of 
prayer  and  meditation,  wreck  it  at  so  late  an  hour 
that  any  salvage  is  impossible. 

"  Really,"  Catia  observed  to  her  solitary  brides 
maid,  a  week  before  the  wedding  day ;  "  you  'd  never 
think  it  that  Scott  was  just  getting  ready  to  be 
married;  would  you?" 

The  bridesmaid  was  not  so  much  tactless  as  en 
vious.  As  she  and  Catia  were  well  aware,  Scott 
Brenton  was  the  one  really  personable  man  upon  the 
horizon  of  their  village  life,  the  only  man  who  seemed 
to  have  it  in  him  to  translate  a  wife  out  of  that 
humdrum  village  into  the  seething  world  beyond.  Of 
course,  it  was  nice  of  Catia  to  have  chosen  her  for 
bridesmaid.  Nevertheless,  it  would  have  been  far, 
far  more  agreeable,  if  only  she  could  have  been  the 
bride.  Therefore,  — 

"  No,"  she  answered  flatly.     "  No ;   I  never  would. 


76  THE    BRENTONS 

I  'd  think  he  ought  to  be  in  a  perfect  twitter,  by  this 
time;  but  he  takes  it  as  calmly  as  if  a  wedding 
were  n't  any  more  important  than  a  sack  of  beans." 

Catia,  hoping  for  a  prompt  denial  of  the  point  of 
view  she  had  put  forth,  was  conscious  of  a  certain 
pique  at  the  prompt  agreement.  She  showed  her 
pique  with  equal  promptness,  and  phrased  it  in  un 
answerable  rebuke. 

"  How  common  you  are,  Eva ! "  she  said  quite 
scornfully.  "  A  sack  of  beans !  One  would  know 
your  father  kept  a  country  store." 

Eva  Saint  Clair  Andrews  felt  herself  justified  in 
the  retort  discourteous. 

"  It  is  better  to  keep  a  country  store  than  it  is 
to  hoe  your  own  potatoes,  barefoot,"  she  responded 
tartly.  "  Besides,  what  about  Scott  Brenton's 
father?" 

Then,  catching  sight,  by  way  of  the  mirror,  of 
Catia's  irate  countenance,  she  stayed  her  speech. 
Already,  she  well  realized,  her  bridesmaid's  robes 
were  in  the  extreme  of  jeopardy.  Unsatisfactory  as 
it  was  going  to  be  to  take  the  second  place  at  Scott 
Brenton's  wedding,  it  would  be  far  more  unsatis 
factory  to  take  the  twenty-second,  and  watch  the 
ceremony  from  one  of  the  rear  pews  of  the  church, 
instead  of  from  the  front  aisle  which  answers  archi 
tecturally  to  the  functions  of  the  chancel.  Besides, 
there  was  going  to  be  a  visiting  minister  extra,  a 
rector  who  was  a  classmate  of  Scott  Brenton  and 
therefore  rather  young.  And  no  one  ever  knew. 
Accordingly,  Eva  Saint  Clair  Andrews,  called  usually 
by  the  whole  of  her  name,  even  in  intimate  address, 
stayed  her  speech  and,  after  a  fashion,  temporized. 


THE    BRENTONS  77 

"  Of  course,"  she  added,  with  a  hasty  giggle ;  "  a 
minister  like  Scott  is  more  used  to  weddings  than 
we  girls  are." 

Turning  from  the  mirror,  Catia  spoke  with  a  dig 
nity  which  was  crushing. 

"  But  not  to  his  own,"  .she  informed  her  guest. 

And  Eva  Saint  Clair  Andrews  gave  up  the  effort 
to  extricate  herself  from  disgrace.  Instead,  she  fell 
upon  discussion  of  the  wedding  plans. 

"  How  many  do  you  expect  at  the  reception, 
Catia?  "  she  made  query,  with  an  accent  which  dis 
cretion  had  suddenly  rendered  exceedingly  full  of 
respect. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  stop  to  count  them  up,"  Catia  re 
plied,  with  magnificent  carelessness.  "  I  Ve  asked 
about  everybody  in  town,  of  course.  Mother  would 
have  insisted  on  it,  anyway;  and,  besides,  Scott's 
position  would  make  us  do  it,  even  if  he  were  the 
only  one  to  count." 

Eva  Saint  Clair  Andrews  opened  her  blue  eyes  a 
little  wider  than  was  quite  becoming. 

"  I  did  n't  suppose  the  Brentons  were  —  "  she  was 
beginning. 

But  Catia  interrupted ,  with  a  fresh  access  of 
magnificence. 

"  Not  the  Brentons,  Eva,"  Catia  had  only  lately 
forbidden  herself  the  village  use  of  the  full  name, 
and  her  sudden  recollection  of  the  fact  caused  her  to 
speak  with  nippy  brevity ;  "  not  the  Brentons,  but 
just  Scott  himself.  Of  course,  we  owe  it  to  his 
cloth." 

"  Yes,"  Eva  Saint  Clair  Andrews  answered,  in  an 
appreciative  murmur.  None  the  less,  lacking  the 


78  THE    BRENTONS 

training  vouchsafed  to  Catia  by  the  closing  functions 
of  the  divinity  school,  she  wondered  what  the  cloth 
might  be,  that  it  should  so  outrank  good  Mrs.  Bren- 
ton  in  its  claim  to  social  precedence. 

A  week  later,  came  the  wedding.  Even  the  most 
carping  one  of  all  the  village  gossips  was  ready  to 
agree  that  it  had  thrown  new  lustre  over  the  entire 
community,  and  even  shed  its  beams  into  the  next 
county  whence  certain  of  the  guests  had  come.  There 
had  been  many  guests  and  some  unusual  costumes. 
The  church  had  been  filled  with  a  wealth  of  flowers, 
chiefly  of  the  home-grown  species,  until  the  place 
reeked  with  the  spicy  odours,  not  of  Araby  the  blest, 
but  of  a  kitchen  garden,  or  a  soup  bunch. 

Beside  the  village  parson,  there  had  been  three 
young  clergymen  in  attendance  and  more  or  less  in 
active  service  while  the  nuptial  knot  was  being  tied. 
Indeed,  so  many  were  there  of  them  and  so  active 
were  they  in  their  ministrations  that  poor  Mrs.  Bren- 
ton,  down  in  the  front  pew  and  painfully  shiny  be 
tween  her  proud  maternal  tears  and  the  reflected 
lustre  of  her  new  black  satin  frock,  was  never  quite 
certain  in  her  mind  which  one  of  them,  in  the  end, 
had  pronounced  her  son  and  Catia  man  and  wife. 
For  the  sake  of  the  ancestral  Wheelers,  she  hoped 
it  was  the  broadcloth-coated  village  parson ;  but  she 
had  her  doubts.  Her  doubts  increased  into  a  posi 
tive  agony  of  uneasiness  when  she  discovered,  at  the 
reception  later  on,  that  the  three  young  clergymen, 
with  one  consent,  had  put  their  waistcoats  on  hind 
side  before.  Had  she  conceived  the  notion  that, 
within  the  limits  of  three  years,  her  son  would  adopt 
the  same  preposterous  fashion,  she  would  have  be- 


THE    BRENTONS  79 

lieved  herself  in  readiness  for  the  nearest  madhouse. 
Mercifully,  however,  so  much  was  spared  her,  at  that 
time  and  for  ever  after. 

The  reception  itself  was  a  glorious  occasion. 
Practically  the  entire  village  was  present,  a  good 
half  of  them  in  new  frocks  manufactured  by  them 
selves  in  honour  of  the  great  event.  It  was  now 
four  years  and  seven  months  since  there  had  been  a 
wedding  in  the  village.  The  local  type  of  damsel 
was  a  pre-natal  spinster,  and  the  few  village  boys 
went  otherwhere  in  search  of  wives.  Brides  there  had 
been,  of  course;  but  they  had  been  of  the  ready- 
made  variety.  Other  communities  had  had  the  glory 
of  the  weddings.  It  was  not  every  day,  by  any  means, 
that  the  local  leaders  of  society  were  asked  to  pre 
pare  themselves  a  wedding  garment.  They  stitched 
away  all  the  more  cunningly  on  that  account.  Judged 
by  the  standards  of  the  Ladies'  Galaxy,  their  gowns 
were  models  of  the  mode.  Viewed  even  in  the  un 
critical  eyes  of  the  visiting  clergy,  they  were,  as  has 
been  said,  unusual. 

Aside  from  gowns,  the  reception  was  chiefly  notable 
for  its  cake;  not  cakes,  but  solid  loaves  made  up  in 
layers  with  oozy  sweetnesses  sandwiched  in  between. 
Served  with  neither  forks  nor  napkins,  it  gave  rise 
to  complications ;  but  it  was  none  the  less  appre 
ciated  upon  that  account.  There  were  two  kinds  of 
lemonade,  too,  one  plain,  one  mixed  with  home-brewed 
grape  juice.  In  all  surety,  Catia's  wedding  recep 
tion  left  nothing  lacking  on  the  score  of  elegance. 
Later,  her  satisfaction  was  obvious  in  her  shining 
eyes,  as  she  halted,  half-way  down  the  front  stairs, 
to  look  upon  her  guests.  The  reception  was  nearing 


80  THE    BRENTONS 

its  end,  for  Catia  was  now  dressed  for  going  away, 
and  topped  with  a  hat  which  combined  the  more  es 
sential  characteristics  of  the  helmet  of  the  British 
grenadier  and  a  mascot  upon  a  Princeton  football 
field.  Indeed,  it  was  almost  as  rigid  in  its  outlines 
as  was  the  smile  which  creased  its  wearer's  lips. 
Catia  was  not  unimpressive  in  her  new  dignity  of 
wifehood;  but  the  dignity  bore  traces  of  diligent 
rehearsal,  and  left  singularly  little  to  the  imagina 
tion.  By  her  side,  Scott,  looking  down  upon  his 
fellow  townsmen,  wore  the  self-conscious  smirk  of  a 
sheepish  schoolboy ;  and  the  best  of  his  fellow  towns 
men  respected  him  the  more  on  that  account.  Catia 
was  the  more  impressive  of  the  two,  they  told  them 
selves  ;  but  there  was  no  especial  sense  in  a  pair  of 
young  things  like  these,  trying  to  act  as  if  their 
getting  married  were  a  mere  fact  of  every-day 
routine. 

Smiling  steadily,  Catia  stood  there,  waiting  until, 
by  very  force  of  motionless  persistence,  she  had 
focussed  every  eye  upon  her  person.  Then,  accord 
ing  to  the  mandates  of  the  Ladies'  Galaxy,  she  hurled 
her  bridal  bouquet  down  across  the  banister,  not  upon 
the  waiting  Eva  Saint  Clair  Andrews  who  hankered 
for  it  lustily,  but  straight  against  the  manly  waistcoat 
of  the  least  and  the  pinkest  one  of  the  visiting  clergy, 
a  youth  of  twenty-five  or  six  who  had  reluctantly 
torn  himself  away  from  an  anxious  wife  and  a  croupy 
baby,  on  purpose  to  be  on  hand  at  Brenton's  wed 
ding.  Mercifully  for  Catia's  poise,  her  young  hus 
band  forebore  explaining  to  her  the  reason  for  the 
three-fold  clerical  roar  which  went  up  upon  the  heels 
of  her  well-meant  attention. 


THE    BRENTONS  81 

Afterwards,  in  looking  backward,  that  evening 
seemed  to  Scott  to  stand  out  as  a  dream,  unforeseen, 
yet  not  inconsequential.  Nothing  that  had  gone  be 
fore  appeared  to  him  to  be  able  to  explain  it.  It 
just  was,  a  fact  without  any  planning  or  volition  on 
his  part.  He  had  known  Catia  from  his  little  boy 
hood,  had  been  used  to  her,  had  counted  on  her  in  a 
sense;  but  always  he  had  held  himself  a  little  bit 
aloof  from  her,  even  when,  to  outward  seeming,  he 
had  sought  her  with  the  greatest  regularity.  Early  in 
their  intercourse,  indeed,  he  had  discovered  the  main 
fact  of  all  those  which  were  to  govern  their  later  life 
together:  that  he  could  not  so  much  talk  over  things 
with  her,  as  talk  them  over  with  himself  when  she 
was  present. 

And  then,  all  at  once  and  without  warning,  Catia 
had  swept  in  and  dominated  him  completely,  domin 
ated  him  with  her  oozy  layer  cake,  and  her  two  sorts 
of  lemonade,  and  with  her  Princeton  grenadier  of  a 
hat.  Beside  it  all,  he  felt  himself  dwindling  into 
insignificance,  despite  the  hind-side-before  waistcoats 
of  the  visiting  clergymen  and  his  mother's  gown  of 
stiff  black  satin.  It  was  a  positive  relief  to  him  when 
he  could  turn  his  back  upon  the  whole  hot,  chattering 
function,  and,  with  Catia's  new  gilt-initialled  bag  to 
balance  his  much-rubbed  suitcase,  go  striding  away 
to  the  station  underneath  the  wintry  freshness  of 
the  night.  Catia  had  rebelled  at  the  idea  of  walking 
to  their  train ;  but  the  one  hack  afforded  by  the  village 
had  gone  away  to  a  funeral  in  the  next  town  but  two. 

So  they  went  stepping  out  into  the  new  life  be 
fore  them:  Catia  Brenton  and  Scott,  her  husband. 
To  Catia  it  seemed  that,  the  first  of  her  milestones 


82  THE    BRENTONS 

reached,  it  was  time  for  her  to  sit  down  for  a  while, 
and  rest,  and  take  a  little  comfort  out  of  thinking 
over  what  she  already  had  achieved.  To  Scott,  the 
first  stage  of  his  journey  had  scarcely  been  begun. 
Indeed,  it  did  not  even  start  from  that  night,  nor 
from  any  night  in  which  Catia's  memory  could  have  a 
share.  And  yet,  asked,  he  would  have  been  swift  to 
affirm  that  he  loved  Catia ;  that  life  ahead  of  him, 
without  her  for  his  wife,  would  be  unsatisfactory, 
perhaps  a  little  vacant.  Catia  had  always  been  a 
part  of  his  environment,  ever  since  the  long-gone 
day  when  she  had  hailed  him,  sodden  in  his  weeping, 
the  while  he  cooled  his  nether  man  upon  the  chilly 
doorstep. 

For  nearly  twenty  years,  they  had  been  meeting 
life  together,  and  comparing  notes  upon  the  impres 
sions  they  had  gained.  Often  and  often,  each  one 
had  found  the  other's  notes  a  cipher,  had  lacked  the 
cipher's  proper  code.  Nevertheless,  there  had  been 
a  certain  sense  of  intimacy  in  the  mere  fact  of  the 
comparison.  Without  Catia  in  his  past,  Scott  Bren- 
ton  would  have  been  lonely.  Therefore  he  felt  it 
safe  to  reason  that,  without  her  in  his  future,  the 
loneliness  would  become  infinitely  worse.  The  mar 
riage,  in  its  inception,  might  have  been  altogether 
Catia's  doing.  In  the  end,  he  had  been  giving  it 
his  full  assent,  and  he  took  his  marriage  vows  in 
all  sincerity,  determined  to  do  his  best  towards  their 
fulfilment. 

His  fingers  shut  quite  closely,  then,  upon  the  slip 
pery  handle  of  Catia's  new  bag,  and  he  stepped  a  bit 
nearer  to  her  side,  as  they  halted  beneath  the  shining 
stars,  to  look  back  upon  what  they  left  behind  them, 


THE    BRENTONS  83 

Catia  saw  the  huddled  gathering  of  the  village 
people,  already  looking  a  little  dowdy  to  her  critical 
eyes.  Scott  only  saw  four  faces,  grouped  in  per 
spective:  his  mother,  tearful,  a  little  tremulous,  yet 
radiant  in  her  full  content ;  behind  her,  two  of  the 
visiting  clergy,  classmates  and  chums  of  the  divinity 
school,  and,  still  behind  these  two,  the  eager  young 
face  of  the  curly-headed  rector  of  the  many  hyphens, 
the  man  who  first  had  opened  his  eyes  to  a  brand- 
new  gospel,  one  of  fatherly  affection,  not  of  pursuant 
wrath,  a  gospel  elastic  as  the  mind  of  man,  plastic 
as  the  flowing  life  of  all  the  ages,  not  a  hard  and 
fast  affair  whose  boundaries  were  laid  down  for  all 
time,  hundreds  of  years  before.  And  this  was  the 
man  of  them  all,  and  not  the  broadcloth  village 
parson,  whom  Scott  Brenton  had  chosen  to  pronounce 
himself  and  Catia  man  and  wife. 

Why  not? 

Scott  waved  his  hand.  His  mother  sought  her 
handkerchief,  though  not  to  wave  it.  His  two  class 
mates  saluted  him,  the  one  with  Catia's  big  bouquet, 
the  other  with  a  crochetted  "  throw  "  snatched  from 
the  nearest  chair.  Above  them  all,  though,  the  curly- 
headed  rector  flung  up  his  arm  in  greeting,  and  with 
his  arm  his  voice. 

"  Bless  you,  old  man,  and  keep  at  it !  Remember 
I  'm  always  in  the  same  old  corner,  if  you  ever  need 
me." 

And  Scott  Brenton  took  the  assurance  with  him,  as 
he  entered  into  his  new  life. 


CHAPTER    EIGHT 

"  SCOTT,"  Catia  let  go  the  coffee  pot  and  looked 
up  to  face  him ;  "  I  do  wish  you  'd  begin  to  think 
about  smartening  yourself  up  a  little." 

Brenton,  who  still  clung  to  his  bachelor  habit  of 
reading  the  newspaper  between  swallows  of  coffee  and 
snatches  of  toast  and  jam,  looked  up  at  the  ar 
raignment  which  lay  in  Catia's  tone,  if  not  within 
her  words. 

"Smarten  myself  up?"  he  echoed,  in  blank 
question. 

"  Yes."  Catia  put  her  elbows  on  the  table  and 
clasped  her  hands  around  her  cup.  "  I  was  looking 
at  you,  Scott,  all  the  time  this  last  convocation  was 
going  on." 

He  smiled  benevolently,  by  way  of  preparation 
for  flinging  himself  once  more  upon  the  columns  of 
his  morning  paper. 

"  You  'd  much  better  have  been  looking  at  the 
Bishop,"  he  advised  her  good-temperedly. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  The  Bishop  was  all  right,"  she  said,  with  an 
emphasis  so  caustic  as  to  catch  and  hold  his  at 
tention. 

Used  as  he  had  become,  the  past  two  years,  to 
pinpricks  of  this  sort,  his  colour  betrayed  how  much 


THE    BRENTONS  85 

the  present  pinprick  hurt  him.     None  the  less,  he 
still  held  on  to  his  temper. 

"And  I  wasn't?"  he  queried,  with  an  effort  at 
a  smile.  "Sorry,  Catia.  What's  the  trouble?" 

"  All  sorts   of  little  things,"   she   answered,  with 
a  disconcerting  frankness.     "  Not  any  one  of  them 
count  for  much ;  but,  taken  all  together,  they  're  —  ' 
She  hesitated  for  a  word. 

Brenton  supplied  it. 

"  Deplorable !  "  Then  he  added,  "  Sorry,  Catia, 
as  I  said  before.  Still,  I  suppose,  if  I  'm  not  a 
beauty,  I  'm  about  what  the  good  Lord  made  me." 

"  Fudge !  "  She  put  down  her  cup  and  rested 
her  chin  upon  her  palms.  Seen  across  the  table 
and  in  a  pose  so  undeniably  feminine  and  so  becom 
ing  to  almost  every  woman,  Catia  was  good  to  look 
upon ;  would  have  been  good,  that  is,  had  not  her 
personality  been  uncomfortably  domineering.  The 
two  years  since  her  marriage  had  rubbed  down  cer 
tain  of  her  angles,  and  had  given  her  at  least  a 
superficial  polish.  She  occasionally  admitted  to  her 
self  that  she  was  very  near  to  being  handsome.  A 
more  critical  observer  and  one  less  prejudiced,  how 
ever,  might  possibly  have  added  that  she  was  curi 
ously  devoid  of  charm. 

Brenton,  on  the  other  hand,  was  growing  curiously 
magnetic,  as  the  months  ran  on,  was  developing 
a  personal  charm  of  which  his  student  days  had 
given  scarcely  any  hint.  The  old  lines,  born  of  hard 
work  and  scanty  nourishment,  had  vanished  from  his 
face.  In  place  of  them  had  come  other  lines,  vastly 
more  becoming,  lines  engraved  by  earnest,  conscien 
tious  thought  and  study,  by  a  life  so  ascetic  as  to 


86  THE    BRENTONS 

be  a  little  narrow,  perhaps,  but  noble  enough  in  its 
aspirations  to  lift  itself  high  above  the  common  level. 
He  still  was  lean  and  thin,  still  a  little  stooping. 
The  habits  of  his  life  would  account  for  that;  he 
was  too  busy  saving  other  men's  souls  to  give  much 
thought  to  the  preservation  of  his  own  body. 

Even  in  a  small  and  humdrum  country  parish,  the 
souls  of  men  need  careful  shepherding;  every  now 
and  then  there  comes  a  petty  crisis  when  they  confess 
to  a  desire  for  outside  guidance,  and  it  was  in  such 
crises  that  Scott  Brenton  found  his  opportunity.  His 
sermons,  albeit  a  trifle  immature,  were  really  clever. 
None  the  less,  they  dwindled  into  insignificance  be 
side  the  practical,  personal  help  he  gave  to  his  pa 
rishioners,  a  help  that  came  without  the  asking, 
whether  the  crisis  were  a  dying  cow,  a  small  son's 
broken  arm,  or  a  fire  in  a  granary  just  after  the 
final  harvest.  Whatever  happened  in  the  parish,  for 
good  or  ill,  Scott  Brenton  always  appeared  upon  the 
scene.  At  the  very  first,  he  had  come  of  his  own 
accord.  Later,  if  his  arrival  delayed  itself  for  a 
dozen  minutes,  he  was  sent  for  in  hot  haste.  In 
every  crisis,  he  was  ready  with  practical  advice ;  but 
he  worked  with  both  hands,  the  while  he  gave  it. 

Under  such  conditions,  how  he  wrote  his  sermons 
was  a  question  unanswerable  by  any  one  but  Catia 
who  trimmed  the  lamps,  next  morning.  To  Catia's 
great  disgust,  despite  the  scale  of  living  due  to  his 
profession,  Brenton  had  taken  it  quietly  for  granted 
that,  for  the  present,  they  would  keep  no  maid.  His 
salary  was  small;  he  must  have  something  saved  to 
give  away  in  cases  of  emergency.  Catia  and  he 
were  strong,  and  the  rectory  was  small.  Of  course, 


THE    BRENTONS  87 

Catia  could  have  a  little  girl  to  come  in  at  odd  hours. 
What  other  help  she  needed,  he  would  give  her  out 
of  his  scanty  leisure.  And  Catia,  who  had  dreamed 
of  a  luxurious  idleness  unknown  to  most  women  in 
that  community  of  simple  habits,  was  forced  to  tie 
on  a  wide  pinafore  and  roll  up  her  sleeves  above  a 
steaming  dishpan.  She  did  it  all,  however,  with  an 
air  of  patient  martyrdom  which  was  not  lost  upon 
her  husband;  while,  upon  the  rare  occasions  when 
they  entertained  a  clerical  guest,  she  added  an  extra 
note  of  unaccustomed  abnegation  which  was  intended 
to  impress  upon  the  guest  that  she  was  the  hapless 
victim  of  a  fall  from  better  days.  The  parish,  in  so 
far  as  she  was  able,  she  disdained  completely.  At 
the  infrequent  times  that  she  was  driven  into  close 
quarters  with  it,  she  made  up  for  her  unpopularity 
among  the  vestrymen  by  taking  it  out  most  vigor 
ously  upon  their  wives.  Indeed,  her  lifelong  famil 
iarity  with  what  she  termed  the  narrowness  of  a 
small  community  made  her  the  more  intolerant,  now 
that  its  groove  was  closing  about  her  for  a  second 
time. 

Therefore,  for  over  a  year  now,  Catia  secretly  had 
chafed  with  the  friction  of  her  surroundings.  As 
yet,  however,  she  had  not  confessed  to  Brenton  the 
chafing,  had  not  explained  to  him  that  her  eyes  were 
searching  their  horizon  for  any  possible  loophole  of 
escape.  Catia  was  more  wise  than  are  most  women. 
She  never  wasted  any  breath  in  demanding  absolute 
futilities.  For  the  present,  she  saw  clearly,  Brenton 
was  quite  contented  with  his  parish.  For  the  present, 
it  was  enough  for  his  young  ambitions  to  know  he 
had  a  parish  and  was  doing  it  some  good.  Later,  she 


88  THE    BRENTONS 

would  take  a  hand  in  stirring  up  his  slumbering 
ambition.  If  she  knew  Scott  at  all,  he  would  not  be 
content  for  ever  with  preaching  to  country  farmers 
and  dandling  their  babies  on  his  knees ;  nor  with  in 
terspersing  moral  reflections  with  inquiries  regarding 
the  season's  crops ;  nor  with  basing  his  sermons  upon 
the  tares  and  the  wheat,  and  the  fig  tree,  and  other 
texts  so  palpably  bucolic  in  their  interest.  How 
ever,  Catia  would  grant  him  a  little  resting  time, 
before  she  goaded  him  up  to  girding  his  loins  anew. 
Indeed,  he  needed  it,  she  admitted  freely  to  herself 
in  her  more  generous  moments.  The  years  of  study, 
long  at  best,  and,  in  his  case,  lengthened  by  needful 
intervals  of  money-earning  toil,  had  taken  it  out  of 
him  badly.  He  needed  a  little  time  to  recover  from 
their  strain,  to  grow  accustomed  to  his  new  dignity 
as  preacher  and  to  learn  to  take  himself  a  little  less 
strenuously,  before  he  would  be  fitted  to  assume  his 
proper  place  in  a  wider  field  than  any  of  which  as 
yet  he  appeared  to  be  dreaming. 

However,  two  years,  it  seemed  to  Catia,  had  been 
an  ample  rest-time.  Therefore,  — 

"  Fudge !  "  she  said.  And  then,  "  Don't  be  pro 
fane,  Scott,"  she  rebuked  him,  with  the  literalness 
which  had  replaced  her  meagre  childish  sense  of 
humour.  "  The  good  Lord  did  n't  make  your  sur 
plices  a  full  eighth  of  a  yard  too  long,  nor  put  you 
into  a  black  stole  for  the  whole  year  round.  Be 
sides,  you  were  the  only  man  in  that  whole  convoca 
tion  that  buttoned  his  collar  in  front.  I  should  have 
supposed  you  'd  have  known  better  than  that,  before 
you  got  your  license." 

Brenton's  lips  curved  into  the  little  smile  she  al- 


THE    BRENTONS  89 

ways  dreaded.    Because  she  dreaded  it,  it  antagonized 
her. 

"  Did  you?  "  he  queried. 

Her  antagonism  lent  a  tartness  to  her  reply. 

"  I  never  professed  to  go  through  a  divinity 
school,"  she  retorted.  "  If  I  had,  though  —  "  Her 
pause  was  fraught  with  meaning. 

He  made  no  effort  to  discount  the  meaning.  In 
stead,  — 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,  Catia,"  he  responded  quietly. 
"  However,  as  it  happens,  I  had  some  other  things 
to  think  about." 

That  brought  her  to  a  momentary  halt.  However, 
she  swiftly  rallied. 

"  Some  people  can  think  of  more  than  one  thing 
at  a  time,"  she  announced,  with  something  of  the 
same  accent  in  which,  long  years  before,  she  had 
ej  aculated  "  Dirty-Face !  " 

But  Brenton's  mind  was  hungrily  intent  upon  his 
paper.  Not  even  two  years  of  Catia's  corrective 
moods  had  taught  him  to  grasp  the  fact  that  she 
would  never  cease  from  her  corrections  until  he  had 
given  evidence  of  writhing  underneath  their  sting. 
It  was  not  enough  for  her  to  have  the  last  word ;  she 
must  be  left  in  a  position  to  gloat  upon  its  visible 
effect.  Else,  wherein  lay  the  pleasure  of  having  given 
it  utterance?  Brenton,  with  manlike  unconsciousness 
of  this  great  fact  of  feminine  psychology,  once  more 
buried  himself  in  his  morning  paper.  Promptly  and 
ruthlessly  Catia  exhumed  him. 

"  Scott,"  she  said,  with  a  petulance  which  she  per 
mitted  herself  but  rarely,  not  so  much  for  moral 
reasons  as  because  the  Ladies'  Galaxy  had  pronounced 


90  THE    BRENTONS 

it  bad  for  the  complexion ;  "  do  put  down  that  stupid 
paper  and  attend  to  me." 

"  Yes,  dear."  And  Brenton  blinked  a  little,  in 
the  sudden  change  of  focus  demanded  of  his  eyes. 

Catia  only  saw  the  blinking,  and  to  herself  she  pro 
nounced  it  a  new  and  ugly  mannerism.  She  did  not 
take  the  trouble  to  notice  the  eyes  themselves,  to 
read  the  earnest  desire  to  please  her,  written  so 
plainly  in  their  luminous  gray  depths. 

"  Oh,  do  wake  up !  "  she  adjured  him,  with  increas 
ing  impatience.  "  Scott,  do  you  know  you  never  really 
come  to  life  till  after  breakfast?  Can't  you  see  I 
want  to  talk  to  you?  Now  do  listen  and  answer  me. 
What  do  you  mean  to  do  about  this  Saint  Peter's 
matter?  " 

"  To  do  about  it !  "  It  was  no  especial  wonder 
that  the  echo  irritated  Catia;  and  yet  neither  was 
it  any  especial  wonder  that  Scott,  in  his  astonishment, 
was  betrayed  into  an  echo  of  that  sort.  As  yet,  her 
meaning  was  opaque  to  him. 

"  Yes,  do  about  it,"  Catia  echoed,  in  her  turn. 
"  They  say  there  's  sure  to  be  a  vacancy,  and  that 
it 's  a  splendid  place." 

"Who  say?"  Brenton  queried  cautiously. 

"  All  the  convocation.  Don't  be  a  dunce  and  pre 
tend,  Scott.  Anyway,  I  'm  not  a  mole ;  I  can  see 
which  way  the  weather  vanes  are  pointing.  They 
were  all  talking  about  it,  while  the  convocation  was 
going  on.  Ever  so  many  of  the  wives  spoke  to  me 
about  it,  and  told  me  that  you  were  the  man  who 
ought  to  have  it." 

Quite  tranquilly  Brenton  helped  himself  to  more 
butter. 


THE    BRENTONS  91 

"  Then,  knowing  the  Bishop's  common  sense,  it 
seems  highly  probable  to  me  that  I  shall  be  the  man 
to  get  it,"  he  responded. 

"  You  won't,  unless  you  try  for  it,"  Catia  assured 
him. 

He  shook  his  head.  The  idea  of  ecclesiastical  wire 
pulling  was  repugnant  to  his  nature. 

"  One  does  n't  try  for  things  of  that  kind,  Catia," 
he  answered. 

"  Then  one  does  n't  get  them,"  she  retorted  curtly. 

It  was  Brenton  who  broke  the  next  period  of 
silence. 

"  Besides,"  he  said,  as  if  his  sentences  had  followed 
each  other  without  break ;  "  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
that  my  work  here  is  done,  by  any  means." 

"  Scott !  "  Catia  put  on  the  cover  of  the  sugar 
bowl  with  a  defiant  clash.  "  Surely,  you  don't  mean 
to  stay  buried  in  this  little  hole  much  longer?  " 

Once  more  his  smile  showed  whimsical. 

"  Really,  Catia,  I  had  n't  thought  about  it  as  a 
hole,"  he  said.  "  About  my  staying  here  or  anywhere, 
I  suppose  it  all  depends  upon  the  Bishop." 

She  pushed  her  chair  back  a  little  from  the  table, 
and  then  clasped  her  hands  upon  the  table's  edge. 
Her  attitude  betokened  her  intention  of  staying  there 
until  the  matter  had  been  fought  out  to  a  finish. 

"  Not  one  half  so  much  upon  the  Bishop  as  it 
does  upon  yourself,"  she  told  him  firmly.  "  The 
Bishop  decides  things  in  the  end ;  but  he  never  origi 
nates  them.  Unless  you  stir  yourself  a  little  and  show 
him  that  you  're  restless,  you  '11  be  welcome  to  sit  for 
all  time  to  come  in  one  corner  of  the  diocese.  In 
fact,  you  have  been  sitting  in  a  corner  for  two  years. 


92  THE    BRENTONS 

It  is  high  time  you  showed  him  you  were  getting 
cramps  in  your  knees,  and  needed  a  higher  seat  to 
straighten  them  out.  There  is  no  especial  sense  in 
your  wasting  your  time  among  these  people.  Any 
broken-down  old  hack  ought  to  be  all  they  've  any 
right  to  look  for." 

"  But  not  all  they  need,"  Brenton  interpolated 
swiftly. 

She  waved  aside  the  interpolation. 

"  It 's  what  you  need,  Scott,  I  'm  talking  about," 
she  told  him.  "  You  are  young,  and  you  need  a 
chance.  What 's  more,  the  Bishop  is  n't  going  to 
offer  it  to  you,  until  you  give  him  to  understand 
that  you  expect  it.  There  are  too  many  hungry 
mouths  open  for  every  bit  of  advantage  to  make  it 
worth  his  while  to  hunt  for  any  more.  As  for  Saint 
Peter's,  they  all  say  it  is  an  ideal  parish:  a  rich 
church  in  a  college  town,  with  a  large  salary  and 
not  too  much  work.  In  fact,"  Catia  added  wisely ; 
"  they  all  say  that  there  never  does  need  to  be  too 
much  work  in  a  parish  where  a  good  share  of  the 
congregation  are  very  young,  and  transients." 

Brenton  lifted  his  head.  Then  he  lifted  his  brows, 
fine,  narrow  brows  and  arching. 

"  It  strikes  me  that  there  might  be  all  the  more," 
he  said. 

Catia's  fingers  beat  a  tattoo  on  the  table. 

"  You  're  just  for  all  the  world  like  your  mother, 
Scott,"  she  said,  with  renewed  impatience. 

"  I  hope  so,"  Brenton  assented  gravely,  for  Mrs. 
Brenton  had  died,  a  year  before,  and  her  memory 
still  was  sacred  in  the  mind  of  her  son. 

Not  even  Catia,  in  her  present  mood,  dared  intro- 


THE    BRENTONS  93 

duce  a  jarring  note,  until  a  little  interval  had  fol 
lowed  upon  Scott's  grave  reply.  She,  too,  had  cared 
for  Mrs.  Brenton;  at  least,  she  had  cared  as  much 
as  it  was  in  her  to  care  for  any  one.  She,  too,  had 
mourned  sincerely,  when  the  patient,  unselfish,  plod 
ding  life  went  out.  Indeed,  there  had  seemed  to 
be  no  little  cruelty  in  the  fate  which  had  ordained 
that  Mrs.  Brenton,  after  giving  her  life  and  strength 
and  all  her  prayers  to  the  equipment  of  her  son  in 
his  profession,  should  not  have  been  allowed  a  little 
longer  time  to  take  pleasure  in  the  things  her  tireless 
effort  had  accomplished.  For,  though  Scott  had  done 
his  best  to  help  himself,  the  real  strain  had  rested 
on  his  mother,  the  more  real  in  that  it  had  been 
unbroken  by  the  variety  of  his  student  existence, 
unrewarded  by  the  elating  consciousness  of  personal 
achievement  which  had  come  to  him  at  the  end  of 
every  stage  of  his  development. 

In  all  truth,  it  had  been  upon  Mrs.  Brenton  that 
the  burden  had  fallen  most  heavily.  She  had  accom 
plished  the  almost  impossible  achievement ;  yet  to  her 
had  been  denied  the  fullest  fruition  of  her  dreams. 
Scott  was  a  clergyman  at  last,  a  preacher,  it  was 
said,  of  more  than  ordinary  promise ;  but  the  gospel 
that  he  was  going  forth  to  preach  to  all  men  was  not 
a  gospel  accredited  by  any  of  the  ancestral  Parson 
Wheelers.  Therefore  it  was  that,  after  all  her 
struggle,  poor  Mrs.  Brenton  died,  a  disappointed 
woman.  Therefore  it  was  that,  by  the  very  reason 
of  the  sincerity  of  his  own  decisions,  Scott,  her  son, 
realized  her  disappointment,  and  cherished  her  mem 
ory  the  more  tenderly  on  that  account.  Vaguely, 
but  resolutely,  he  had  clung  to  the  hope  that  the 


94  THE    BRENTONS 

day  would  dawn  when  his  mother  would  come  into 
his  own  way  of  thinking.  He  only  resigned  that  hope, 
while  he  listened  to  the  prayer  of  the  village  parson 
beside  his  mother's  open  grave.  It  was  an  extem 
poraneous  prayer;  but  it  lacked  no  detail  on  that 
account.  And  there  are  few  things  in  life  more 
tragic  than  permanent  misunderstandings  between  a 
child  and  parent.  That  this  one  must  now  be  per 
manent  not  even  Scott  Brenton's  theological  tenets 
could  leave  him  room  for  doubt. 

Catia's  cause  for  mourning  was  by  far  more  prac 
tical.  She  realized  that  it  was  Mrs.  Brenton  who 
had  provided  her  with  a  professional  husband,  in 
place  of  the  petty  farmers  and  shopkeepers  who, 
otherwise,  had  bounded  her  horizon.  Moreover,  she 
missed  Mrs.  Brenton  sorely,  when  there  came  a  need 
to  discuss  Scott's  faults  and  failings,  to  plan  how 
best  to  put  an  end  to  them  before  they  stood  in  the 
way  of  his  career.  Also  of  her  career.  For,  despite 
her  manifest  disdain  of  the  village  parish  where,  as 
it  seemed  to  her,  Scott  was  merely  marking  time, 
Catia  had  her  own  keen  notions  as  to  the  part, 
granted  a  suitable  environment  to  serve  as  stage,  a 
rector's  wife  could  play.  Saint  Peter's,  taken  as  a 
stage,  would  admirably  suit  her  purposes.  A  college 
town,  and  a  girls'  college  town  at  that,  could  not 
fail  to  surround  the  rector's  lady,  not  only  with  a 
proper  train  of  satellites,  but  with  an  audience 
worthy  of  her  utmost  powers. 

Already,  at  the  recent  convocation,  she  had  probed 
the  subject  cleverly.  That  is,  in  the  most  incidental 
fashion,  she  had  led  the  talk  around  to  the  new  Bishop 
of  Western  Oklahoma,  had  casually  mentioned  the 


THE    BRENTONS  95 

parish  whence  he  had  clambered  to  the  bishop's 
throne,  and  then,  in  greedily  receptive  silence,  she  had 
listened  to  the  scraps  of  conversation  evoked  by  her 
apparently  careless  words.  At  first,  her  investiga 
tions  had  been  carried  on  among  the  other  diocesan 
wives.  Finding  them,  to  all  seeming,  gullible  and 
loquacious,  she  had  even  ventured  on  the  Bishop. 
And  the  good  old  Bishop,  near-sighted  and  slightly 
hard  of  hearing,  had  carried  away  the  genial  im 
pression  that  Brenton's  wife  was  a  very  pretty 
woman  and  would  be  of  inestimable  help  to  him 
in  managing  a  parish.  Indeed,  the  Bishop,  who  was 
celibate,  thought  much  about  the  helpful  influence  of 
a  proper  wife,  the  evening  after  his  short  talk  with 
Catia.  He  even  wondered  whether  he  had  been  quite 
wise  in  allowing  the  two  of  them  —  for,  ever  after 
ward,  he  persisted  in  thinking  of  them  jointly  —  to 
be  buried  in  a  country  parish  where  it  was  possible 
an  experienced  widower  might  manage  the  work  alone. 

Of  this,  however,  and  of  the  good  Bishop's  later 
meditations  and  of  his  consequent  questionings  and 
investigations,  Catia  unhappily  was  in  ignorance. 
Her  ignorance,  moreover,  led  her  now  into  employ 
ing  on  her  husband  the  final  weapon  in  her  woman's 
quiver,  namely  pathos. 

She  dropped  her  eyes  to  her  fingernails,  and  spoke 
with  reverential  deliberation. 

"  She  was  a  good  woman,  Scott,  a  dear,  good 
woman,  even  if  she  always  was  a  little  narrow.  It 
can't  fail  to  be  a  pleasure  to  you  now  to  think  back 
to  the  way  we  have  done  our  best  to  carry  out  her 
wishes  as  —  "  suddenly  Catia  bethought  herself  of 
the  change  in  the  label  of  their  theology.  "  —  as  far 


96  THE    BRENTONS 

as  our  own  consciences  would  allow  us.  And  now, 
dear  boy,"  her  eyes  drooped  lower  still  over  her 
request ;  "  now  that  you  have  n't  her  to  consider 
any  longer,  are  n't  you  willing  to  do  just  one  very, 
very  little  thing  for  me?  " 

"  I  hope  so,  Catia,"  Brenton  responded,  still  quite 
gravely.  "  What  is  it  that  you  want?  " 

Despite  her  efforts  to  the  contrary,  her  voice 
thrilled  with  the  sudden  surety  that  she  had  gained 
her  cause. 

"  Write  to  the  Bishop,  dear,  and  tell  him  you 
will  take  Saint  Peter's,  when  he  offers  it,"  she  begged 
him. 

Brenton  lifted  his  head  to  stare  at  her,  aghast. 

"  Catia,  I  can't,"  he  told  her  sternly. 

Nevertheless,  in  the  end  of  things,  he  did.  His 
later  self-reckonings  were  all  the  more  severe  on  that 
account.  In  more  senses  than  one,  Scott  Brenton's 
rest-time  ended  with  his  turning  his  back  upon  the 
country  parish. 


CHAPTER    NINE 

"  WELL,  what  do  you  think  about  it,  father? " 
Olive  Keltridge  queried,  as  she  tapped  the  table  with 
the  corner  of  the  note  she  was  holding  in  her 
hand. 

The  tapping,  however,  was  no  indication  of  any 
filial  impatience.  It  was  merely  to  remind  her  parent 
that  something  was  still  expected  of  him,  before  he 
drifted  off  again  into  an  absent-minded  study  of 
the  medical  journal  clutched  between  his  fists.  Olive 
Keltridge  would  have  been  the  last  person  in  the 
world  to  dissent  from  the  general  adoration  of  her 
father.  He  was  all  in  all  to  her,  as  she  to  him. 
None  the  less,  she  was  driven  to  admit  at  times  that 
it  was  a  trifle  difficult  to  keep  him  up  to  his  social 
duties. 

Olive's  mother  had  died,  six  years  before.  The  girl 
had  come  out  of  school  to  take  upon  her  slim  young 
shoulders  the  management  of  her  father's  house. 
Moreover,  in  that  aged  town  where,  aside  from  a  few 
score  new  professors  and  their  callow  young  assist 
ants,  everybody's  grandparents  had  played  dolls  and 
tin  soldiers  together,  Dr.  Keltridge's  absent-minded 
fashion  of  failing  to  provide  his  daughter  with  a 
feminine  chaperon  had  caused  no  comment  whatso 
ever.  Everybody  that  one  met  out  at  dinner  knew 


98  THE    BRENTONS 

all  about  everybody  else  for  several  generations. 
Either  they  were  indigenous,  and  born  knowing;  or 
else,  imported  and  properly  accredited,  they  took 
measures  to  inform  themselves  at  the  earliest  possible 
opportunity.  All  the  other  people,  whom  one  saw 
in  church  and  in  the  street  cars,  did  not  count  at  all. 

For  that  reason,  no  one  appeared  to  find  it  at 
all  strange  that,  from  the  day  she  put  on  long  frocks, 
Olive  Keltridge  should  preside,  unchaperoned,  at 
her  father's  table,  should  receive  her  father's  guests 
without  other  protection  from  their  wiles  than  that 
accorded  by  his  presence.  To  be  sure,  that  presence 
was  not  invariably  dependable.  On  more  than  one 
occasion,  Olive  had  been  obliged  to  delay  the  serving 
of  the  dinner  and  excuse  herself  from  her  waiting 
guests,  while  she  went  in  search  of  her  father  in  his 
laboratory.  The  guests,  though,  as  a  rule,  had  known 
Doctor  Eustace  Keltridge  even  longer  than  his 
daughter  had  had  the  chance  to  do.  They  forgot 
their  hunger  completely  in  their  amused  curiosity  as 
to  the  condition  in  which  their  host  would  put  in  his 
appearance. 

Olive  Keltridge  was  a  born  hostess.  She  had  been 
prompt  to  grasp  the  fact  that  guests  should  be 
amused  as  well  as  fed,  prompt  to  realize  that  a 
family  skeleton  can  easily  be  converted  to  a  family 
Jack-in-the-box,  if  only  he  can  be  snatched  from  the 
closet  and  manipulated  with  a  little  tact.  Upon  the 
first  occasion  of  her  father's  failure  to  line  up  beside 
her  in  season  to  receive  his  guests,  she  had  gone  in 
search  of  him  a  little  petulantly,  had  reappeared  be 
side  him,  hot-cheeked  and  a  trifle  sulky.  That  one 
experience  had  been  the  last  one  of  its  kind,  however. 


THE    BRENTONS  99 

Olive  had  lain  awake,  that  night,  to  ponder  on  the 
interval  between  the  time  of  her  discovering  her  sire, 
his  hair  rampant,  his  necktie  shockingly  awry  and 
his  sleeves  rolled  up,  messing  contentedly  among  his 
pots  and  pans  of  cultures  and  totally  oblivious  of 
his  waiting  guests,  and  the  much  later  time  when 
she  had  literally  driven  him,  irreproachably  clad  and 
beaming  delightedly,  into  the  drawing-room  ahead 
of  her.  She  had  thought  it  all  over,  all,  from  the 
quality  of  the  delayed  dinner  down  to  the  things 
that  the  guests  were  likely  to  be  saying  in  her  ab 
sence.  Then,  young  as  she  was,  she  took  her  reso 
lution.  After  that,  she  would  catch  her  father  sud 
denly,  and  bring  him  back,  red-handed.  A  man  like 
Doctor  Keltridge  ought  not  to  be  reduced  to  the 
conventional  dead  level  of  his  fellow  townsmen;  it 
would  be  a  waste  of  rare  material.  Rather,  as  the 
phrase  is,  he  should  be  featured.  And  Olive  pro 
ceeded  to  feature  him  accordingly,  to  the  solid  satis 
faction  of  her  father  and  to  the  no  small  rapture  of 
his  old-time  cronies. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  under  this  new  and  unor 
thodox  arrangement,  a  dinner  invitation  at  the  Kel- 
tridges*  became  a  thing  of  almost  infinite  value. 
Apart  from  the  surety  of  the  good  dinner,  and  the 
cordial  welcome  of  the  pretty  little  hostess  who, 
young  as  she  was,  yet  understood  to  the  full  the 
delicate  distinction  between  chat  and  chatter:  apart 
from  all  this  was  the  humorous  question  contained 
within  the  host.  No  one  could  ever  foretell  whether 
he  would  greet  them  on  the  threshold  in  his  overcoat 
and  goloshes,  or  be  invisible  until  the  dinner  was 
announced,  and  then  be  led  in  by  one  cuff,  like  a 


100  THE    BRENTONS 

guilty  youngster  caught  among  the  jam  pots.  No 
one  ever  could  foretell,  either,  what  would  be  the 
doctor's  costume  for  the  evening,  whether  it  would 
combine  a  dinner  jacket  and  a  four-in-hand,  or 
whether  a  wadded  housecoat  and  no  necktie  at  all 
above  his  evening  linen  would  announce  to  his  guests 
that  a  sudden  thirst  for  knowledge  had  cut  athwart 
his  dressing  and  sent  him  to  the  laboratory  to  dis 
cover  how  some  malignant  brew  or  other  might  be 
getting  on.  Upon  one  point  only  Olive,  product  of 
these  modern  days,  stood  firm.  Her  father  might  be 
as  charmingly  erratic  as  he  chose ;  but  he  must  steri 
lize  his  hands,  before  he  came  into  the  drawing-room. 
And  upon  that  one  point  of  domestic  discipline  his 
guests  rested  in  placid  confidence,  sure  that,  as  long 
as  Olive  was  at  the  helm,  they  could  devour  the  Kel- 
tridge  dinners  in  reasonable  surety  of  not  being 
poisoned. 

If  Doctor  Keltridge  was  charming  as  host,  he  was 
even  more  charming,  taken  as  a  father.  He  was  ador 
ing,  indulgent,  whimsical,  and  singularly  tactful  in 
spite  of  his  absent-minded  lapses.  To  Olive,  indeed, 
he  seemed  to  be  the  only  man  at  all  well  worth  the 
while.  Nevertheless,  as  now,  it  sometimes  became  im 
perative  to  be  a  little  masterful  in  summoning  him 
back  to  present  consciousness  just  long  enough  to 
extract  an  answer  from  him.  Therefore  she  tapped 
the  table  sharply  with  the  corner  of  the  note. 

"  Listen,  father !  "  she  urged  him,  as  she  laid  her 
other  hand  across  the  open  paper.  "  What  shall  I 
say?" 

"  Say  that  they  are  impossible  young  asses,  a  year 
and  a  half  behind  the  times,"  her  father  growled, 


THE    BRENTONS  101 

the  while  he  shifted  his  paper  slightly,  to  free  its 
final  column  from  her  covering  fingers. 

A  total  stranger  to  the  doctor  might  have  dis 
trusted  either  his  own  ears,  or  else  the  doctor's  sanity. 
Olive  knew  her  father,  though ;  she  felt  no  forebodings, 
albeit  her  eyes  danced  at  the  unexpected  nature  of 
his  response. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  Mrs.  Dennison  might  not  take 
it  nicely,  if  I  did,"  she  said. 

The  doctor's  growl  rumbled  forth  once  more. 

"  Better  know  what  one  is  talking  about,  then. 
That  theory  was  all  exploded,  months  ago."  Then 
some  echo  of  his  daughter's  words  seemed  at  last  to 
be  penetrating  his  brain,  and  he  lowered  his  paper 
with  a  sigh.  "  What  has  Mrs.  Dennison  to  do  with 
a  thing  like  this,  Olive?  "  he  queried  blankly.  "  Den 
nison  is  only  history,  not  biological." 

Olive  laughed  outright. 

"  And  Mrs.  Dennison  is  only  socio-hospitable," 
she  responded.  "  Father,  you  really  are  terrible,  this 
morning." 

The  doctor  smiled  benevolently  at  her  arraignment. 
Then,  hurriedly  gathering  himself  together,  he  stuck 
out  an  appealing  cup  for  some  more  coffee. 

Olive  shook  her  head. 

"  No ;  not  one  other  drop.  You  have  had  five,  al 
ready.  If  you  don't  stop  at  that,  I  '11  tell  the  cook 
to  put  you  on  to  postum.  Now  please  do  listen  to 
me.  I  was  asking  you  whether  we  'd  best  go  to  this 
dinner  of  Mrs.  Dennison's." 

"  When  ?  "  the  doctor  inquired. 

Olive's  lips  twitched  at  the  corners. 

"  About  a  half  an  hour  ago,"  she  answered.     "  No, 


102  THE    BRENTONS 

wait."  Swiftly  she  seized  and  snatched  away  the 
paper,  just  as  her  father  was  preparing  to  bury  him 
self  anew.  "  The  dinner  is  next  Thursday,  to  meet 
Mr.  Brenton." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Brenton?"  her  father  asked,  with 
bland  interest. 

"  The  new  rector.  You  heard  him,  two  weeks  ago, 
you  know."  This  time,  Olive's  accent  held  a  slight 
reproach.  Purely  as  a  matter  of  heredity,  Doctor 
Keltridge  was  senior  warden  of  Saint  Peter's ;  but, 
as  a  general  rule,  he  totally  forgot  to  go  to  church. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes.  The  new  chap  with  the  voice." 
The  doctor  roused  himself  suddenly.  "  It  is  a  won 
derful  voice,  Olive ;  his  whole  respiratory  system  must 
be  perfect,  and  his  lungs.  I  never  heard  a  better 
resonance  nor  better  breath  control.  Really,  I  'd  like 
to  hear  him  speak  at  closer  range.  When  did  you 
say  the  dinner  is  ?  Of  course,  we  '11  go.  Dennison 
is  n't  a  bad  little  fellow,  even  if  his  mind  did  stop 
short  at  history." 

"  The  dinner  is  for  Thursday,"  Olive  reiterated 
patiently. 

"  Thursday.  Hm.  What  am  I  doing  then  ?  "  her 
father  questioned  for,  as  may  be  imagined,  it  was 
Olive  who  kept  the  run  of  his  engagements. 

"  Nothing,  after  the  hospital  directors'  meeting  at 
two.  Really,"  Olive  spoke  a  little  absently,  herself; 
"  I  almost  wish  that  you  were." 

As  invariably  happened,  the  doctor's  attention  be 
came  alert  when  she  least  expected  it. 

"  Eh?  What?  "  he  asked  her,  in  manifest  surprise, 
for  it  was  most  unusual  for  Olive  to  balk  at  any  in 
vitation. 


THE    BRENTONS  103 

Her  colour  came. 

"  Oh,  it 's  all  right.  Of  course,  we  '11  go.  In  fact, 
there 's  no  getting  out  of  it,  as  long  as  you  are 
senior  warden." 

The  doctor  fished  for  the  cord  of  his  see-off 
glasses.  When  they  were  astride  his  nose, — 

"  You  like  Mrs.  Dennison,  Olive,"  he  said  crisply. 
"  Therefore,  by  a  process  of  elimination,  it  probably 
is  the  Brentons  you  don't  want  to  meet.  What  is 
the  matter  with  them?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  the  girl  evaded.  "  It 's  only  that 
I  hate  too  prompt  a  rushing  into  a  new  acquaintance." 

"  Not  always,"  her  father  reminded  her.  "  As  a 
rule,  you  've  been  willing  enough  to  meet  the  new 
people  at  the  college." 

Olive  Keltridge's  ancestral  notions,  the  notions  born 
of  Brahmin  and  academic  New  England,  spoke  in 
her  reply. 

"  Yes ;  but  they  are  different." 

Her  father,  though,  saw  more  clearly.  He  was 
too  well  aware  of  the  quality  of  the  raw  material 
whence  the  growing  college  faculties  must  recruit'  their 
ranks. 

"  Not  always,  Olive ;  at  least,  not  nowadays,  even 
if  it  used  to  be.  But  what  is  the  matter  with  Brenton? 
He  seems  possible  enough." 

"  Nothing,"  she  confessed,  with  a  little  blush  for 
her  distinction  between  man  and  wife.  "  It  is  only 
Mrs.  Brenton.  He  is  very  possible,  I  should  say; 
but  she  seems  to  me  a  —  "  and  Olive  laughed  at  the 
absurdity  of  her  own  coming  phrase ;  "  a  trifle  im 
probable." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 


104  THE    BRENTONS 

"  I  have  n't  seen  her." 

"  Yes,  you  have.  She  was  just  in  front  of  us,  the 
woman  in  the  pinky-yellow  feather  and  the  pompa 
dour.  You  must  remember  her;  she  was  casting 
sheep's-eyes  at  Mr.  Brenton,  all  the  time  he  was 
preaching.  That  was  the  way  I  found  out  who  she 
was.  My  curiosity  led  me  to  ask  Dolph  Dennison 
about  her,  and  I  was  quite  upset  when  Dolph  tweaked 
my  elbow  and  made  signals  of  distress  at  poor  Mr. 
Brenton  who  was  standing  near  us.  If  he  is  as 
thin-skinned  as  he  looks,  poor  man,  it  must  be  rather 
hard  to  go  into  a  new  parish  and  watch  the  people 
getting  accustomed  to  his  wife." 

"  He  brought  it  on  himself,"  the  doctor  said,  with 
scanty  charity. 

"  And  he  has  also  brought  it  upon  us,"  Olive 
assented  grimly.  "  Still,  if  you  say  so,  I  will  write 
to  Mrs.  Dennison  that  we  will  come.  You  '11  not  for 
get?  In  the  meantime,  I'll  raise  my  eben-ezer  of 
devout  thanksgiving  that  I  'm  a  girl  and  therefore 
can't  possibly  sit  next  to  Mrs.  Brenton  at  the  table. 
I  only  hope  that  honour  will  descend  on  you." 

And  it  did. 

Moreover,  in  the  talk  which  followed  on  the  being 
seated,  it  was  Catia  who  took  the  initiative.  She 
was  affable,  as  befitted  her  husband's  lofty  rank, 
sprightly,  as  seemed  considerate  of  the  great  age  of 
the  man  beside  her.  Both  attributes  were  a  little 
bit  intensified  by  her  complete  pleasure  in  her  frock. 
It  had  come  by  express  from  New  York,  that  day, 
ordered  by  a  picture  in  a  catalogue.  The  box  that 
held  it  was  adorned  with  a  mammoth  scarlet  star, 
and  the  scheme  of  decoration  of  the  frock  was  wholly 


THE    BREXTONS  105 

consonant  with  the  star.  Catia  had  ordered  it  in  hot 
haste,  in  deference  to  a  rumour  which  had  drifted 
to  her  ears,  outstretched  in  readiness  for  all  such 
rumours,  that,  even  in  that  relatively  small  com 
munity,  it  was  the  custom  to  put  on  low-necked 
frocks  for  dinner.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Catia 
had  worn  a  low-necked  frock;  but  she  did  not  find 
it  disconcerting  in  the  least.  It  did  disconcert  Bren- 
ton  very  much,  however.  Its  abbreviated  bodice  did 
not  fit  in  with  his  notions  of  what  was  seemly  for  a 
rector's  wife ;  moreover,  to  the  end  of  time,  he  never 
could  find  any  great  degree  of  beauty  in  a  woman's 
shoulder-blades. 

Brenton  himself  was  in  his  plain  clerical  costume 
from  which,  nowadays,  he  made  it  his  rule  never  to 
depart.  It  was  a  slightly  different  costume  from  the 
one  he  had  worn  at  first,  more  distinctly  clerical. 
Even  in  the  morning,  when  it  descended  to  the 
worldly  level  of  a  subdued  species  of  pepper-and-salt, 
it  always  opened  chiefly  in  the  back,  and  a  plain 
silver  cross  invariably  dangled'  from  a  cord  about 
his  neck.  As  a  matter  of  course,  he  always  kept 
himself  clean-shaven ;  and  his  scholarly  stoop  endured 
still,  although  the  old,  self-distrustful  shamble  had 
strengthened  into  a  manly  stride.  His  eyes  were  as 
lustrous  as  of  old,  his  close,  up-springing  hair  lay 
as  thick  as  ever  on  his  crown ;  but  the  lower  part  of 
his  face  showed  changes,  born  of  the  years.  Still 
lined,  still  looking  just  a  little  worn,  it  had  gained 
something  in  decision,  gained  infinitely  more  in  sen 
sitive  refinement.  In  Scott,  the  native  clay  was  being 
replaced  by  translucent  marble.  In  Catia,  it  was 
hardening  to  something  akin  to  adamant. 


106  THE    BRENTONS 

That  night,  Catia  wasted  but  little  time  in  the 
preliminary  conversation  with  her  host  who,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  had  taken  her  in  to  dinner.  Dcn- 
nison  was  older  than  he  looked,  less  impressed  than 
he  seemed,  and  clothed  impeccably,,  Catia  dismissed 
him  as  a  youngster  of  scanty  account,  for  he  cer 
tainly  was  not  formidable  to  lool:  upon,  and  her 
studies  in  the  Napoleonic  period  had  never  brought 
her  into  close  acquaintance  with  his  really  epoch- 
making  monograph.  To  be  sure,  she  had  heard  some 
one  saying  that  he  golfed  extremely  well;  but  as  yet 
her  social  education  was  far  too  rudimentary  to  allow 
her  mind  to  grasp  all  that  that  fact  connoted.  There 
fore  she  turned  her  attention  to  Doctor  Keltridge 
a  thought  sooner  than  the  strict  laws  of  table  talk 
allowed.  Of  Doctor  Keltridge  she  had  heard  already 
and  often.  He  was  their  senior  warden,  and  she  the 
rector's  lady ;  they  could  not  fail  to  have  many  points 
in  common.  By  way  of  discovering  those  points  quite 
promptly,  Catia  turned  away  from  Dennison  and  ruth 
lessly  cut  in  upon  Doctor  Keltridge's  amicable  spar 
ring  with  his  other  neighbour  whom,  as  it  chanced, 
the  good  doctor  had  escorted  across  the  portal  of 
this  world. 

"Oh,  Doctor  Keltridge!"  Catia  took  great 
pleasure  in  the  spontaneous  accent  she  contrived  to 
fling  into  the  words.  "  I  do  want  —  " 

Startled,  and  a  little  bit  surprised  at  the  sudden 
voice  above  his  off-turned  shoulder,  the  doctor  be 
stirred  himself  and  threw  out  a  vaguely  searching 
hand.  Then,  as  his  hand  found  nothing  before  it  but 
a  bank  of  flowers,  he  emitted  one  of  the  customary 
growls  with  which,  to  his  more  intimate  friends,  he 


THE    BRENTONS  107 

disclosed  the  fact  that  the  motors  of  his  ego  were 
temporarily  stalled. 

"  Never  is  any  butter  at  such  a  time!"  he  grumbled. 
Then  he  rallied  to  the  questioning  note  in  Catia's 
voice.  "What  else  can  I  get  you,  madame?  "  he 
inquired  benignly. 

There  was  an  instant's  hush  about  the  table.  Olive, 
in  the  lee  of  the  clerical  elbow  and  with  young  Dolph 
Dennison  by  her  side,  was  palpably  in  danger  of 
hysterics.  The  others,  all  but  Brenton,  were  well 
enough  accustomed  to  the  doctor  to  await  the  finish 
of  the  interview  with  no  small  degree  of  interest. 
Brenton  felt  the  pause  and  reddened  a  little,  more  in 
marital  self-consciousness  than  from  any  specific  sense 
of  conjugal  alarm.  Indeed,  the  only  two  unconscious 
ones  about  the  table  were  the  two  protagonists :  Catia 
and  the  absent-minded  doctor,  neither  of  whom  ap 
peared  to  be  in  the  least  aware  of  any  pause  in  the 
general  talk. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  Catia  told  him  suavely.  "It 
was  only  that  I  wanted  — 

Again  there  came  the  instant's  hesitation.  Again 
the  doctor  employed  that  instant  in  a  frenzied  search 
about  the  table  to  discover  and  make  good  the  missing 
need.  This  time,  though,  his  success  was  better.  It 
was  with  a  sigh  of  unmistakable  relief  that  his  fingers 
shut  upon  the  salt.  His  gesture  crossed  the  final 
words  of  Catia  who  had  resumed  her  broken  phrase, 
now  rounding  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion. 

"  —  So  much  to  meet  you,  Doctor  Keltridge.  Ever 
since  I  heard  of  you,"  her  eyes  looked  smilingly  into 
his  keen  ones  which  now,  a  little  bit  inscrutable,  were 
studying  her  intently  from  beneath  their  bushy  brows ; 


108  THE    BRENTONS 

"  I  have  told  Scott  that  I  felt  quite  certain  that  we 
should  find  out  we  had  any  number  of  tastes  in 
common." 

This  time,  the  pause  was  not  of  Catia's  making. 
The  doctor  let  it  lengthen  while,  to  all  of  his  old 
friends  about  the  table,  it  was  plain  that  the  motors 
of  his  ego  now  were  working  at  full  speed.  Mean 
while,  his  keen  old  eyes  were  still  resting  upon  Catia's 
up-raised  face,  and  in  them  was  the  same  look  an 
aged  sheepdog  might -bestow  upon  a  youthful  terrier 
puppy.  Then  a  smile  broke  over  the  keen  face,  and 
the  stern  eyes  lighted,  as  the  doctor  spoke. 

"  I  surely  hope  so,  Mrs.  Brenton,"  he  answered  her 
benignantly.  "  As  you  see,  I  like  horse  radish  with 
my  oysters.  How  is  it  about  you?  " 


CHAPTER    TEN 

IT  was  not  until  a  good  two  weeks  later  that 
Olive  Keltridge  came  into  any  actual  contact  with 
the  new  rector.  At  the  Dennison  dinner,  she  had 
been  too  busy  in  dodging  the  conversational  assaults 
of  the  rector's  lady  to  pay  any  great  amount  of  at 
tention  to  the  rector  himself.  Since  that  time,  she 
had  viewed  Brenton  only  with  the  height  of  the  chan 
cel  steps  between  them.  However,  Olive  was  conscious 
that  the  man  interested  her,  even  at  that  distance ;  and 
it  was  with  some  degree  of  impatience  that  she  con 
fessed  her  interest  to  young  Dolph  Dennison  who,  as 
a  rule,  was  her  safety  valve. 

"  I  despise  a  woman  who  goes  mad  about  the 
clergy,  Dolph,  and  I  despise  the  way  this  new  rector- 
man  of  ours  keeps  my  eyes  glued  upon  him,  all  the 
time  he 's  preaching.  It  is  n't  the  quality  of  his 
sermons,  either;  it  is  something  inherent  in  the  man 
himself  that  causes  me  to  watch  him." 

Dolph  Dennison  laughed  with  the  callousness  of  a 
wayward  boy.  He  was  years  younger  than  his 
brother,  the  professor.  Moreover,  he  had  never  taken 
any  especial  pains  to  expedite  the  processes  of  his 
growing  up. 

"  You  '11  recover,  Olive ;  I  have  seen  you  enthused 
like  this,  before.  As  for  Brenton,  it 's  a  mere  case  of 


110  THE    BRENTONS 

burbling  genteel  platitudes  in  a  marvellous  voice. 
Even  I,  though  I  deplore  the  platitudes,  find  my  own 
gooseflesh  rising  in  response  to  his  larynx.  It 's  a 
tremendous  asset  to  a  man,  that!  Some  day,  when 
I  have  the  time,  I  '11  work  it  out  into  a  series  of 
equations :  heart  and  brain  and  larynx  as  the  unknown 
quantities  to  be  properly  equated,  so  much  brain  for 
so  much,  or  so  little,  larynx.  Thanks,  no.  I  won't 
come  in.  I  'm  late  for  luncheon  now.  You  will  be  at 
the  Evans  tea,  to-morrow  afternoon?" 

Nodding  cheerily,  young  Dennison  went  on  his 
way,  leaving  Olive  to  ponder  upon  the  accuracy  of 
his  diagnosis.  Was  it  only  larynx,  after  all?  Or 
had  the  new  young  rector  something  back  of  it,  some 
thing  that  singled  him  out  from  the  ruck  of  men,  and 
held  him  up  as  worthy  of  attention?  Olive's  eyes 
grew  thoughtful,  for  an  instant,  at  the  question. 
Then  the  laugh  came  back  into  them  again,  the  while 
she  thought  of  Mrs.  Brenton. 

It  was  only  the  next  afternoon  that  Brenton  came 
by  appointment  to  call  on  Doctor  Keltridge.  There 
were  certain  minor  matters  to  be  discussed  between 
the  rector  and  his  senior  warden,  before  it  appeared 
really  wise  to  bring  them  up  in  open  meeting.  To 
both  men,  it  seemed  possible  to  discuss  them  with 
greater  freedom  from  interruption  at  the  doctor's 
house  than  at  the  rectory.  Therefore  had  been  the 
appointment  between  them. 

According  to  his  custom,  Brenton  kept  his  appoint 
ment  to  the  very  letter,  and  the  clocks  were  striking 
three,  when  the  Keltridge  maid  deposited  him  in  the 
Keltridge  drawing-room.  The  doctor  showed  himself 
less  punctual,  however,  and  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour 


THE    BRENTONS  111 

elapsed  before  steps  were  heard  in  the  hall  outside. 
Moreover,  before  Brenton  had  time  to  question  to 
himself  the  weight  of  those  same  steps,  the  door  was 
pushed  open  to  admit,  not  a  keen-faced  and  grizzly 
doctor,  but  a  totally  apologetic  Olive. 

"  Mr.  Brenton  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  slight  lift,  as  of 
question,  in  her  voice.  "  Really,  I  am  so  penitent  at 
the  message  I  am  bringing  you.  The  maid  told  me 
you  were  here.  Then,  after  a  while,  she  came  back 
again  and  told  me  she  could  n't  find  my  father  any 
where." 

With  a  courteous  little  gesture,  Brenton  inter 
rupted  her  apology  and  half  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  Really,  it 's  not  at  all  a  matter  for  apology,  Miss 
Keltridge.  I  can  come  again,  some  other  day.  Your 
father  is  a  busy  man,  I  know." 

But  Olive  stayed  him  with  scanty  ceremony. 

"  No ;  wait,  Mr.  Brenton.  I  had  n't  finished  my 
tale.  Besides,  when  you  have  lived  in  town  a  little 
longer,  you  '11  know  that  nobody  ever  does  apologize 
for  my  father ;  we  all  revel  in  his  dear  old  absurdities. 
Sit  down,  please.  He  will  be  here  before  very  long." 

Brenton  did  sit  down,  the  while  he  suppressed  a 
vague  question  regarding  the  filial  nature  of  the  word 
absurdities.  Then  he  yielded  to  the  merriment  in 
Olive's  eyes,  and  laughed  outright  and  boyishly. 

"  I  've  heard  something  of  the  sort  already,  Miss 
Keltridge,"  he  confessed.  "  What  was  it,  this  time?  " 

For  an  instant,  Olive  paused,  astonished  at  the 
change  which  had  come  over  her  companion.  His 
clerical  veneer  had  fallen  from  him;  the  man  beneath 
was  singularly  human,  likable,  and  as  simple  as  Dolph 
Dennison  himself. 


112  THE    BRENTONS 

"  This  time  ?  I  went  to  see,  went  to  the  laboratory, 
though  the  maid  had  told  me  he  was  n't  in  there.  She 
had  knocked  twice;  then  she  had  opened  the  door 
to  look  in.  At  first,  I  agreed  with  her.  Then  I 
heard  a  little  noise,  over  in  a  corner  behind  the  table. 
There  on  the  floor,  the  flat  floor,  sat  my  father, 
sixty-five  years  old.  His  hair  was  all  on  end,  and 
his  cheek  was  smudged  with  something  yellow,  and 
he  was  as  happy  as  a  baby  in  a  sand  pile.  Doing?  " 
Olive  made  a  helpless  little  gesture.  "  How  should 
I  know?  I  'm  no  student  of  germs.  He  had  a  row 
of  glass  pans  in  front  of  him,  with  hideous  messes  in 
them,  and  he  appeared  to  be  sounding  the  depths 
of  iniquity  in  them  with  a  small  glass  divining  rod." 

Then  their  eyes  met  above  the  finished  story,  and 
together  the  two  of  them  burst  out  laughing,  like 
a  pair  of  merry  children. 

"  You  think  he  will  become  visible,  in  course  of 
time?  "  Brenton  asked  her. 

She  shook  her  head,  as  she  laughed  again. 

"  I  trust  so,  Mr.  Brenton ;  but,  of  course,  nobody 
ever  can  predict.  He  knows  you  are  here.  At 
least,"  swiftly  she  amended  her  phrase ;  "  he  did 
know  it.  How  long  the  fact  stays  by  him  is  another 
question.  If  you  were  only  a  germ,  now  —  She 
surveyed  him  dubiously.  "  You  would  n't  care  to 
go  into  the  laboratory?  "  she  asked  him. 

A  sudden  light  flashed  up  into  Scott  Brenton's 
face,  the  dazzle  of  a  flame  long  buried,  never  entirely 
to  be  extinguished. 

"  If  I  might !    Would  n't  it  disturb  him,  though?  " 

But  Olive  had  seen  the  lighting  of  the  quiet  face, 
and  her  curiosity  was  aroused.  What  was  there  in 


THE    BRENTONS  113 

the  mere  mention  of  a  laboratory  that  could  so 
transform  a  humdrum  little  rector  into  a  thing  of 
fire?  That  it  was  the  laboratory,  Olive  never  stopped 
to  question.  She  was  far  too  sane,  too  used  to  the 
tame-tabby-cat  propensities  of  youthful  rectors,  to 
imagine  for  a  moment  that  the  enthusiasm  had  come 
out  of  the  chance  to  escape  from  her  society.  There 
fore  she  decided  that,  for  the  present,  she  would 
keep  this  particular  rector  to  herself,  on  the  off- 
chance  of  discovering  the  real  source  of  his  enthu 
siasm.  Her  knowledge  of  her  father's  habits  assured 
her,  beyond  doubt,  that  later  on,  much  later,  there 
would  still  be  plenty  of  time  for  the  laboratory  visit. 
Accordingly,  she  answered  Brenton's  question  with 
flat  discouragement. 

"  Probably,"  she  told  him  quite  uncompromisingly. 
"  However,  it  is  good  for  him  to  be  disturbed,  once 
in  a  while,  even  if  he  does  n't  always  take  it  so 
very  nicely." 

With  palpable  regret,  Brenton  settled  back  again 
in  his  chair. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  'd  hate  to  be  disturbing  him,"  he  said 
politely. 

"  Better  stay  here  and  wait,"  Olive  advised  him. 
"  It  can't  be  long  before  he  comes,  and  some  of  those 
glass  pans  were  very  awful." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  One  never  really  minds  a 
laboratory  smell,  after  the  first  whiff  of  it.  It  seems 
to  go  into  the  system  once  for  all,  at  the  start. 
After,"  this  time,  the  regret  was  even  more  palpable ; 
"  one  always  rather  longs  to  get  back  into  it." 

Olive  smiled. 

"  So  I  have  noticed,  with  my  father."     Then  her 


114  THE    BRENTONS 

accent  changed,  grew  less  conventional.  "  You  have 
had  it,  then,  Mr.  Brenton?  " 

"  Of  another  sort.  I  had  three  years  in  a  chemical 
laboratory,  when  I  was  in  college,"  he  told  her  simply. 

"  Really?     And  you  liked  it?  " 

His  voice  dropped  by  a  whole  octave,  thrilled  with 
a  new  resonance  which,  for  some  reason  that  she 
could  not  analyze  then  or  after,  set  the  girl's  nerves 
all  a-quiver.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  man  who,  for  the 
first  time,  is  confessing  aloud  his  master  passion. 

"  It  made  life  over  for  me,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  Then  —  Forgive  me,  if  I  have  no  right  to  ask 
the  question.  But  one  generally  keeps  on  with  a 
thing  like  that."  Olive  was  painfully  aware  that  her 
curiosity,  however  she  wrapped  it  up  in  apologies, 
was  most  unjustifiable. 

Scott  Brenton,  however,  did  not  appear  to  find 
it  so.  Too  simple-minded  and  downright  to  obtrude 
his  personal  history,  he  also  was  too  simple-minded 
to  conceal  it. 

"  I  should  have  kept  on  with  it,  at  any  cost,"  he 
answered;  "only  for  the  sake  of  my  mother.  She 
was  a  widow  without  much  money ;  she  was  giving 
all  she  had  to  educate  me,  and  her  heart  was  set 
on  —  something  else." 

If  Olive  noted  the  little  pause,  she  had  at  least  the 
super-feminine  tact  to  ignore  it. 

"Your  priesthood?" 

He  nodded   slowly. 

"  After  a  fashion,  —  yes." 

This  time,  the  pause  seemed  to  her  entirely  natural. 

"  She  must  be  very  happy  now,"  she  answered. 
"  Saint  Peter's  is  a  dear  old  church,  mellow  enough 


THE    BRENTONS  115 

in  its  traditions  to  make  up  for  its  hopelessly  new 
architecture ;  and  I  am  sure  you  '11  love  this  sleepy 
town." 

But  it  was  plain  to  her  that  Brenton,  quite  oblivi 
ous  to  her  words,  was  pursuing  his  own  train  of 
thought.  Out  of  it  he  spoke. 

"  My  mother  died,  two  years  ago,  Miss  Keltridge." 

Her  reply  came  promptly. 

"  How  glad  you  must  be  that  she  lived  to  know 
that  her  wishes  had  been  carried  out !  " 

This  time,  the  pause  was  a  good  deal  longer.  With 
out  Olive's  in  the  least  suspecting  it,  the  invincible 
honour  of  the  man  before  her  was  struggling  with 
his  reticence.  Should  he  absorb  a  praise  to  which  he 
had  no  right ;  or  should  he  thrust  his  confidence  upon 
her  at  this  early  stage  of  their  acquaintance?  Honour 
won  out. 

"  Only  in  part,"  he  said  a  little  sadly.  "  Really, 
Miss  Keltridge,  there  's  no  especial  reason  I  should 
bore  you  with  all  this,  except  that  I  don't  like  to  be 
caught,  sailing  under  false  colours.  I  wanted  to  be 
a  chemist  of  some  sort  or  other,  something  experi 
mental  and  theoretical,  if  I  could;  and  they  told  me 
that  I  could.  Sometimes  I  wish  they  had  n't.  It 
would  have  simplified  things  a  good  deal,  if  I  never  had 
found  it  out.  And  my  mother,  all  the  time,  had 
been  denying  herself  in  order  to  prepare  me  to 
preach  the  bluest  sort  of  Calvinism.  I  found  that  it 
was  going  to  break  her  heart,  if  I  gave  up  the  plan, 
so  I  gave  up  the  chemistry,  instead,  and  took  the 
preaching.  Unfortunately,  though,  in  the  meantime, 
the  chemistry  —  and  some  other  things  —  had  made 
me  also  give  up  the  Calvinism.  And  so,  in  the  end 


116  THE    BRENTONS 

of  all  things,  even  my  preaching  seemed  to  her  a 
wretched  compromise." 

His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  carpet,  and  he  could 
not  see  her  face;  but  the  gentleness  in  her  young 
voice  set  his  pulses  pounding.  In  all  his  life  up  to 
this  hour,  such  gentleness  never  had  been  meant  for 
him.  His  mother  was  too  stern;  Catia  too  metallic. 
As  for  other  women,  he  had  never  been  in  sufficiently 
short  range  of  them,  psychologically  speaking,  to  be 
aware  whether  they  meant  to  be  gentle  to  him  or 
not. 

"  I  think,"  Olive  was  saying ;  "  that  she  under 
stands  it  better  now.  Anyway,  you  always  will  be 
glad  of  the  choice  you  made." 

His  eyes  still  on  the  carpet  at  his  feet,  Scott  Bren- 
ton  spoke  moodily. 

"  I  wish  I  knew,"  he  said. 

And  then  he  was  aghast  at  the  consciousness  that, 
before  this  comparative  stranger,  and  a  girl  at  that, 
he  had  taken  down  the  barriers  before  the  secret  of 
his  disappointment. 

Happily,  however,  Olive  was  serenely  unconscious 
of  either  barriers  or  secret.  Instead,  she  was  intent 
on  preventing  any  retro-active  regrets  upon  the  part 
of  a  devoted  son. 

"  All  creeds  are  a  good  deal  alike,  just  as  they  say 
all  roads  lead  to  Rome,"  she  reminded  him,  with  a 
curious  crossing  of  Mrs.  Brenton's  mental  trail. 
"  The  preaching,  after  all,  is  the  main  thing,  that 
and  the  priestly  life ;  it  does  n't  make  much  dif 
ference  whether  you  wear  a  stole,  or  a  gown  and 
bands.  And  as  for  the  chemistry,"  she  laughed 
lightly ;  "  if  you  ever  feel  your  work  in  that  was 


THE    BRENTONS  117 

wasted,  just  go  and  talk  to  the  head  professor  here. 
Only  just  the  other  day,  I  heard  him  laying  down 
the  law  to  father,  claiming  that  his  laboratory  was 
the  only  open  door  to  logic,  the  only  training  school 
where  one  can  find  out  whether  his  elements  can  be 
combined  safely,  or  whether  they  will  explode  and, 
what 's  a  good  deal  more  to  the  point,  explode  him 
with  them." 

The  laugh  came  back  to  Brenton's  face.  Once  more 
Olive  wondered  at  its  charm. 

"  There  's  something  in  his  theory,"  he  admitted. 

"  Everything,  according  to  his  notion.  The  last  I 
heard,  the  dear  man  apparently  was  trying  to  get 
himself  annexed  to  the  literary  courses.  He  declared 
in  open  faculty  meeting,  the  other  day,  that  a  proper 
training  in  chemistry  would  kill  off  a  good  fifty  per 
cent  of  the  modern  novels.  The  authors  would  realize 
the  explosiveness  of  their  plots  before  they  touched 
them,  and  would  n't  waste  months  on  months  of  work, 
brewing  what,  in  the  end  of  it  all,  was  nothing  more 
than  a  mere  flash  in  the  pan.  He  was  still  elaborating 
his  theory,  when  the  President  called  him  to  order, 
ready  for  the  motion  to  adjourn."  Then  she  harked 
back  to  her  former  theme.  "  You  must  see  the  labora 
tory  here,  Mr.  Brenton,  if  you  care  for  such  things. 
Girls?  Oh,  yes,  of  course;  but  you  '11  soon  get  past 
regarding  that  as  any  handicap.  In  fact,  according 
to  Professor  Opdyke,  it  is  one  of  the  best  equipped 
laboratories  in  the  country." 

But  Brenton's  attention  had  wandered  from  the 
fact,  caught  by  one  of  the  minor  details  which  sur 
rounded  it. 

"  Professor  Opdyke  ?  "  he  echoed  a  little  blankly. 


118  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Yes.     You  have  met  him?  " 

"  Not  here.  Not  at  all,  in  fact.  The  name  is  so 
uncommon  that  I  am  quite  sure.  And  yet  —  " 

It  was  plain  to  Olive  that  Brenton  was  struggling 
with  some  half-forgotten  memory,  striving  to  bring 
it  forth  to  light,  to  link  it  with  the  present ;  or,  fail 
ing  that,  at  least  with  something  tangible  in  his  past 
life.  And  yet,  the  blurring  of  his  memory  was  not 
too  inexplicable.  Reed  Opdyke  still  remembered 
Brenton  clearly,  still  regretted  the  apparent  waste 
of  some  of  his  more  brilliant  possibilities.  Scott 
Brenton,  on  the  other  hand,  had  totally  dismissed 
Reed  Opdyke  from  his  mind.  In  the  contact  between 
the  two  of  them,  the  one  had  stepped  up,  the  other 
down ;  and,  as  so  often  happens,  the  truer,  the  more 
lasting  picture  is  the  one  gained  from  the  upper 
level.  Moreover,  Brenton's  later  life,  and  most  es 
pecially  the  summer  which  had  followed  the  ending 
of  his  association  with  Reed  Opdyke,  had  been  so 
very  strenuous  as  to  obliterate  by  far  the  greater 
number  of  his  earlier  contacts. 

Then  suddenly  memory  stirred  in  its  sleep, 
stretched  itself,  awakened. 

"  Did  Professor  Opdyke  have  a  son  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  new  eagerness  which  was  wholly  alien  to  the 
one  concerning  his  bit  of  autobiography. 

Olive  smiled  at  his  phrasing. 

"  He  did ;  I  trust  he  still  does,"  she  answered ; 
"  though,  with  a  mining  man,  one  never  can  be  quite 
sure.  Why?  Did  you  know  Reed?  " 

The  colour  came  into  Brenton's  cheeks,  as  he 
blurted  out  the  totally  forgotten  truth. 

"  I  adored  him,  all  my  last  two  years  at  college." 


THE    BRENTONS  119 

"Really?  Yes,  he  is  Professor  Opdyke's  son; 
and  people  who  have  seen  him  lately  tell  me  he  is 
more  adorable  than  ever." 

"When  have  you  seen  him?"  For  something  in 
Olive's  accent  made  Brenton  realize  that  there  was 
no  necessity  for  any  preliminary  question  concern 
ing  the  fact  that  she  knew  Opdyke  well. 

"  Not  since  the  year  of  his  graduation.  In  fact, 
I  was  at  his  commencement.  Why,"  and  suddenly 
her  eyes  gathered  into  focus ;  "  I  remember  you  then, 
Mr.  Brenton.  Reed  showed  you  to  me  as  —  Then, 
all  at  once,  she  faltered  and  her  colour  came. 

He  strove  to  help  her  out  of  the  abyss  into  which 
she  so  unwittingly  had  fallen. 

"  One  of  the  waiters  at  his  eating  club,  and  popu 
larly  known  there  as  'Reed's  Parson'?"  he  asked 
her,  with  a  little  smile  which  sought  to  cover  the 
sting  that  came  to  him  with  the  memory. 

But  Olive  shook  her  head. 

"  No ;  not  that  at  all.  It  was  one  of  the  Might- 
Have-Beens,  he  called  you,"  she  said,  with  brave 
downrightness.  But,  afterwards,  when  she  thought 
the  matter  over,  she  wondered  whether  she  had  bet 
tered  it,  or  made  it  worse.  In  any  case,  she  went 
on  a  little  hastily.  "  Since  then,  as  it  happens,  I 
never  once  have  been  here,  when  Reed  has  been  at 
home.  Of  course,  he  has  been  back  here  now  and 
then ;  but  once  I  was  in  London,  and  in  New  York, 
the  other  times." 

"Where   is   he?" 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

"  That  is  the  hardest  sort  of  question  to  answer, 
for  he  is  always  on  the  wing.  He  went  in  for  min- 


120  THE    BRENTONS 

ing  engineering,  and  is  making  quite  a  record  as 
consulting  engineer.  It 's  copper,  I  think,  he  con 
sults  about;  anyway,  no  one  ever  can  predict  where 
he  will  be  heard  from  next.  Really,  if  you  knew 
him,  you  must  meet  Professor  Opdyke.  The  dear 
old  man  is  bursting  with  pride  in  his  only  son ;  he 
talks  about  him  by  the  hour  at  a  time,  if  we  let  him. 
The  trouble  is  that  we  all  are  so  cloyed  with  hear 
ing  about  Reed's  virtues  and  Reed's  triumphs  that 
we  have  a  tendency  to  run  away  before  the  paternal 
downpour  commences.  A  new  pair  of  ears  will  be 
a  veritable  godsend  to  his  father.  He  and  my  father 
are  the  greatest  sort  of  chums,  and  —  Suddenly 
Olive  paused  and  began  to  look  distinctly  uneasy. 
"By  the  way,  Mr.  Brenton,  where  is  my  father?  I 
really  think  that,  in  mercy  to  your  patience,  I  'd 
better  go  and  jog  his  memory  once  more." 

And  jog  his  memory  she  did,  and  with  such  suc 
cess  that,  this  time,  Doctor  Keltridge  put  in  a  tardy 
and  apologetic  appearance.  However,  when,  smil 
ing  guiltily  at  his  own  sins  of  omission,  he  came  to 
greet  his  guest,  he  came  alone.  Olive,  her  hospitable 
duty  done,  had  vanished,  to  return  no  more. 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

SAINT  PETER'S  Parish  was  unique  in  all  New  Eng 
land.  The  trails  of  old  and  new  in  its  experience 
crossed  and  crisscrossed  at  every  point,  causing  a 
long  succession  of  eccentricities  which  endeared  them 
selves  to  the  minds  of  the  oldest  inhabitants.  How 
ever,  even  the  oldest  inhabitants  breathed  a  deep  sigh 
of  relief,  when  finally  they  were  housed  in  the  brand- 
new  church  up  beside  the  college  campus,  a  real 
stone  church,  with  transepts  and  painted  windows 
and  choir-stalls  within,  and  a  cloister  and  a  grand 
tall  tower  without.  The  ramshackle  old  wooden 
church  had  been  dear  to  them,  had  even  remained 
dear  to  them  after  the  railroad  had  laid  down  its 
tracks  under  their  very  eaves ;  but  they  were  fretted 
by  the  crudely  caustic  comments  of  strangers  com 
ing  to  the  town,  and  they  were  still  more  fretted 
when  the  puffing,  screeching  Sunday  trains  drowned 
the  voice  of  the  good  old  rector  whose  mannerly 
traditions  forbade  his  puffing  and  screeching  in  his 
turn. 

He  had  been  a  dear  old  rector,  rotund  and  pomp 
ous  ;  and  his  surplice  had  been  fully  as  long  and 
voluminous  as  a  Mother  Hubbard  nightie.  Possibly 
it  was  on  that  account,  to  equalize  the  demand  for 
muslin,  that,  in  those  same  old  days,  the  choir  had 


128  THE    BRENTONS 

worn  no  surplices  at  all,  but  had  been  accustomed 
to  come  tramping  into  church  in  all  the  bravery  of 
sack  coats  and  violent  haberdashery.  Indeed,  upon 
the  part  of  certain  of  the  congregation,  there  had 
been  a  tendency  to  regard  it  as  a  finger-post  to 
Rome,  when  some  younger  member  of  the  vestry  sug 
gested  putting  the  ban  on  scarlet  neckties.  Saint 
Peter's  Parish  was  set  like  a  holy  beacon  in  the 
very  midst  of  a  valley  which  was  tainted  with  here 
sies  Arian  and  unspeakable,  tainted  so  thoroughly 
that  the  ritualistic  development  of  Saint  Peter's  was 
delayed  for  decades  upon  that  account. 

Later,  Saint  Peter's  became  far  wiser  in  its  genera 
tion.  Its  policy  had  been  to  extend  a  cordial  wel 
come  to  all  men  of  whatever  creed,  and  its  early 
fathers  had  felt  that  it  was  surer  to  attract  the  more 
unstable  of  its  neighbours,  if  it  held  its  threshold  at 
the  common  level  of  them  all.  In  course  of  time, 
however,  wisdom  dawned  and  broadened  to  a  perfect 
day  of  psychological  common  sense.  A  theological 
reaction,  of  whatever  sort,  was  bound  in  the  last 
analysis  to  be  a  matter  of  a  sudden  leap,  not  of  a 
deliberate  slide.  One  either  took  a  veritable  ski- 
jump  into  the  next  church  but  three,  or  else  one 
merely  stayed  where  one  was,  and  fretted  about  the 
details  of  the  service. 

It  was  now  a  good  twenty  years  and  more  since 
Saint  Peter's  had  abandoned  its  old  barracks  of  a 
church  and  moved  up  town  into  its  new  quarters. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  it  had  settled  down  as  close 
as  possible  to  the  campus.  A  student  congregation 
might  be  a  bit  unstable,  taken  as  a  parish;  but  it 
was  distinctly  lucrative,  when  it  came  to  the  point 


THE    BRENTONS  123 

of  counting  up  the  offertory.  Furthermore,  as  re 
sult  of  its  Sunday-morning  habits  of  arising,  it  was 
prone  to  turn  in  at  the  first  church  door  that 
offered. 

Nowadays  on  Sunday  mornings,  Saint  Peter's 
rector  had  no  monopoly  of  surplices.  The  choir, 
discreetly  garbed  and  outwardly  reverential,  warbled 
early  English  settings  to  the  hymns,  the  while  they 
came  striding  slowly  up  the  aisle  in  a  species  of 
churchly  goose-step  that  demanded  a  pause  on  each 
foot,  to  prevent  the  physical  march  outrunning  the 
musical  one.  Nowadays,  too,  there  was  daily  cele 
bration;  that  is,  when  any  one  was  sufficiently  ener 
getic  to  get  up  and  get  into  church  in  time.  What 
happened  upon  those  other  days,  when  the  rector 
was  abandoned  to  the  rows  of  empty  pews,  was  still 
a  matter  of  profane  conjecture.  Discussed  in  whis 
pers,  it  was  agreed  to  be  a  subject  best  left  to  the 
disclosing  hand  of  time. 

Into  this  elaborate  and  decorative  harness,  Scott 
Brenton  was  now  breaking  his  young  strength,  his 
young  ambition.  In  his  old  parish  in  the  hills,  it 
had  been  a  question  of  preaching  the  best  sermons 
that  he  could  and  looking  out  for  his  people  in  the 
intervals,  rather  than  of  forms  and  ceremonies  and 
intonations  of  the  Nicene  Creed.  In  accepting  the 
Bishop's  intimation  that  Saint  Peter's  Parish  would 
extend  to  him  a  welcoming  hand,  he  had  thought 
singularly  little  about  the  outward  trappings  of  his 
priesthood.  Catia  knew  it  all;  but  she  held  her 
peace.  The  Bishop  also  had  held  his  peace,  and  a 
little  bit  for  the  same  reason  that  Catia  had  done. 
He  knew  the  theological  history  of  Scott  Brenton; 


1S4  THE    BRENTONS 

he  knew  that,  like  all  half-broken  colts,  he  easily 
might  shy  at  first  sight  of  the  harness;  yet,  once 
with  the  harness  on  and  fitted  to  his  back,  he  would 
fall  to  work  in  earnest  and  pull  steadily  with  the 
best  of  them.  And  it  was  the  pulling  that  the  Bishop 
wished,  not  the  mere  jingling  of  the  farthingale. 
Under  the  last  incumbent,  Saint  Peter's  had  been 
running  down  a  little.  It  was  not  in  "all  respects 
an  easy  parish;  and  Brenton,  young,  earnest  and 
as  magnetic  as  he  was  self-distrustful,  was  the  very 
man  to  build  it  up.  Nevertheless,  the  Bishop  saw 
to  it  that  Scott  Brenton  should  never  attend  a  ser 
vice  at  Saint  Peter's,  until  his  acceptance  of  the 
parish  was  settled  past  all  gainsaying. 

From  the  first  morning  of  his  reading  service  at 
Saint  Peter's,  Brenton  had  been  aware  that  he  was 
opening  a  fresh  chapter  of  his  life.  In  the  old  hillside 
parish,  there  had  been  things  to  do  and  souls  to  save. 
Here,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  the  souls  had  been 
saved  prenatally.  As  for  the  things  to  do,  these 
people  were  too  critical,  too  self-reliant  to  take 
kindly  to  the  intimate  sort  of  ministrations  in  which, 
of  old,  he  had  delighted.  For  the  future,  it  would 
be  the  quality  of  his  sermons  that  counted  most, 
rather  than  his  personal  contact  with  his  people. 

The  congregation  seemed  to  him  conglomerate,  a 
jumble  of  conflicting  elements.  There  were  the  old, 
old  residents  and  their  offspring,  people  who  squab 
bled  violently  among  themselves  as  to  whose  ancestor 
came  aboard  the  Mayflower  first,  and  which  in  what 
capacity.  There  were  the  mediaeval  spinsters  who 
always  reach  their  best  development  in  the  semi- 
small  New  England  town,  spinsters  who  have  clubs 


THE    BRENTONS  125 

and  theories,  and  yet  play  golf,  and  frivol  delight 
fully  above  their  luncheon  tables.  And  there  were 
college  girls  in  hordes,  alert  young  things,  critical 
alike  of  evil  and  of  good,  of  the  hang  of  the  back 
of  a  surplice  where  the  shoulders  stoop  a  little,  and 
of  the  turning  of  the  final  phrases  that  naturally 
lead  up  to  the  And  now  —  To  Scott  Brenton,  look 
ing  down  upon  the  students  in  the  congregation,  his 
first  Sunday  morning  at  Saint  Peter's,  their  be- 
feathered  hats  and  their  intent  young  faces  seemed 
to  him  the  masking  labels  upon  a  store  of  frozen 
dynamite.  Thawed,  it  might  serve  for  any  amount 
of  useful  tunneling;  it  might  go  off  explosively  in 
the  open,  at  almost  any  given  instant. 

Taken  all  in  all,  it  was  upon  the  student  fraction 
of  his  congregation  that  Brenton  looked  with  great 
est  interest;  it  was  to  them,  in  greatest  measure, 
that  the  best  of  his  sermons  preached  themselves. 
The  phrase  is  no  slipshod  inversion  of  the  fact.  The 
best  of  all  sermons  do  preach  themselves,  both  in 
their  original  inception  and  their  ultimate  delivery. 
All  the  so-called  preacher  does  about  it  is  to  give 
the  intermediate  polishing  to  his  projectile,  and  then 
to  hold  himself  still,  while  it  is  going  off,  and  watch 
what  happens,  by  way  of  preparation  for  aiming 
his  next  shot. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  with  a  target  so  unstable 
as  a  student  audience,  Brenton  by  no  means  hit  the 
bull's-eye  every  time.  That  he  did  hit  it  occasion 
ally,  however,  argues  no  mean  ability,  no  paltry 
knowledge  of  youthful  human  nature.  Over  their 
Sunday  dinners,  the  girls  discussed  his  sermons  with 
increasing  vigour.  The  echoes  of  these  discussions, 


126  THE    BRENTONS 

coming  to  Brenton's  ears,  set  him  to  preaching  with 
increasing  conscientiousness.  However,  there  still  was 
salvation  for  him;  it  was  his  sermons  that  he  took 
so  much  in  earnest,  and  not  himself,  the  preacher. 

But,  although  it  was  upon  his  student  hearers 
that  Scott  Brenton  tossed  down,  broadcast  and  un- 
saving,  the  best  of  all  he  had  within  himself,  it  was 
among  the  permanent  residents  of  Saint  Peter's  that 
his  real  work  was  supposed  to  be  done.  He  did  that 
work  most  faithfully;  he  showed  himself  both  tire 
less  and  tactful  in  his  arrangement  of  the  parish 
mechanism,  in  his  gathering  up  and  straightening 
and  knotting  here  and  there  the  threads  his  prede 
cessor  had  flung  down  in  a  tangled  heap.  Neverthe 
less,  his  heart  was  in  the  other  end  of  his  work,  not 
for  any  individual  interest  in  the  different  girls ;  but 
because  his  whole  instinct  told  him  that  here  was  the 
dynamic  force  of  the  whole  organization,  that  the 
rest  of  it  was  curiously  static.  Under  those  be- 
feathered  hats  were  eager  brains  which  weighed  their 
theology  and  measured  it,  not  took  it  ready  made. 
It  was  for  him  to  serve  it  out  to  them  in  such  a 
guise  that,  weighed,  they  should  not  find  it  wanting. 

Catia,  on  the  other  hand,  looked  upon  the  student 
end  of  her  husband's  parish  with  disapproving  eyes. 
The  girls  annoyed  her  by  their  cocksure  alertness, 
their  little  air  of  being  primed,  ready  for  any  emer 
gency  that  chanced  to  offer.  They  vexed  her  by 
their  manifest  absorption  in  her  husband;  they 
vexed  her  yet  more  by  their  inexplicable  lack  of 
interest  in  herself. 

Upon  the  older  and  more  stable  fraction  of  the 
parish,  however,  Catia  lavished  an  interested  affec- 


THE    BRENTONS  127 

tion  which  would  have  seemed  well-nigh  maternal, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  care  she  took  to  emphasize 
the  gulf  in  age  which  yawned  between  herself  and 
certain  of  the  individuals  who  made  up  its  list.  She 
studied  the  list  with  no  slight  degree  of  care.  By 
the  end  of  their  first  month  in  the  new  parish,  she 
knew  to  a  nicety  how  the  line  of  local  social  prece 
dence  ordered  itself,  where,  at  any  point  in  the 
procession,  town  must  yield  to  gown,  or  the  re 
verse.  She  knew  the  lineage  and  history  of  all  the 
wardens  and  their  wives,  and  then  of  all  the  vestry 
men  ;  she  even  cultivated  a  nodding  acquaintance 
with  their  family  skeletons,  and  learned  to  recognize 
the  seals  upon  the  doors  that,  as  a  rule,  hid  them 
from  public  view.  She  knew  the  hobbies  of  the 
average  prosperous  member  at  large  of  the  flock 
ecclesiastical,  and  made  a  series  of  elaborate  calcu 
lations  regarding  the  intersecting  social  orbits  of 
those  same  members.  As  for  the  other,  lesser  mem 
bers  of  the  congregation,  she  had  an  especial  kind 
of  smile,  half  of  sweetness,  half  of  deprecation,  that 
she  bestowed  upon  each  one  of  them  in  turn ;  but 
she  never  made  the  slightest  effort  to  separate  them, 
one  from  another,  in  her  mind,  or  to  return  any  of 
their  calls.  To  Catia's  astute  brain,  the  duty  of  a 
rector's  lady  consisted  in  helping  her  husband  up, 
not  on. 

It  was  at  about  this  epoch,  too,  that  Catia  ceased 
to  be  Catia  and  became  Kathryn.  In  some  respects, 
the  most  remarkable  thing  about  the  change  was  the 
suddenness  with  which  it  was  announced  to  Scott. 

A  dozen  of  them  had  been  dining  at  the  Keltridges', 
one  night,  six  months  or  so  after  Brenton  had  come 


128  THE    BRENTONS 

to  take  charge  of  the  congregation  of  Saint  Peter's. 
It  was  essentially  a  church-warden  kind  of  dinner, 
with  all  the  other  wardens  and  their  wives  to  meet 
the  rector  and  his  lady,  the  kind  of  dinner  that  one 
gives  and  goes  to,  out  of  stern  necessity,  when,  all 
the  time,  one  longs  for  something  just  a  little  less 
made  up  by  rule  of  thumb.  The  one  exception  to 
the  prevailing  ecclesiastical  flavour,  that  night,  was 
in  the  person  of  a  local  novelist  who,  albeit  suave 
and  very  bald,  wrote  novels  of  the  raucous,  woolly 
West.  Moreover,  like  all  other  novelists,  he  rejoiced 
in  talking  shop.  Accordingly,  with  the  utmost  ex 
pedition,  he  dragged  the  talk  around  to  the  law 
regarding  the  choice  of  names. 

"  Of  course,"  he  expounded,  for  the  benefit  of 
whom  it  might  concern ;  "  the  first  thing  I  always 
do,  when  I  go  to  work,  is  to  name  my  characters. 
It 's  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  do  —  prop 
erly.  You  can  stick  any  sort  of  name  to  any  sort 
of  character,  I  know ;  but  that 's  not  naming  them. 
Not  at  all.  The  name  must  be  a  label ;  it  must  fit 
like  a  glove,  and  yet  the  character  must  be  fitted 
to  it.  And  most  of  the  names  I  find  are  so  trite." 

"  Likewise  the  characters,"  Dolph  Dennison  as 
sured  him,  sotto  voce. 

Dolph,  by  way  of  his  older  brother,  who  was 
vestryman,  might  be  termed  sub-ecclesiastical.  How 
ever,  in  any  case,  he  would  have  been  sure  of  a  seat 
at  the  Keltridge  dinner,  even  if  all  the  other  guests 
had  been  archbishops.  It  needs  at  least  one  such 
irresponsible  youngster  to  act  as  appetizer  for  the 
solid  things  before  him. 

Only  Olive  heard  his  comment.     As  a  matter  of 


THE    BRENTONS  129 

course,  Dolph's  place  was  next  to  Olive.  Long  since, 
discerning  hostesses  had  discovered  that  therein  lay 
the  only  path  to  peace.  Otherwise,  Dolph  either 
sulked  palpably;  or  else  ignored  his  other  neighbour 
and  shouted  all  his  talk  across  the  table  into  Olive's 
ears.  Not  that  either  Dolph  or  Olive  had  any  no 
tion  of  being  at  all  in  love  with  each  other.  It  was 
merely  that  things  struck  them  the  same  way  at  the 
same  instant,  and  that  Dolph,  being  young  and  a 
good  deal  spoiled,  could  see  no  reason  against  a 
prompt  exchange  of  comments  on  the  fact.  There 
fore,  for  the  peace  of  the  other  people  at  the  table, 
it  had  become  a  universal  local  law  that,  no  matter 
who  took  Olive  Keltridge  out,  Dolph  Dennison  should 
be  placed  at  her  other  side. 

Olive,  then,  heard  Dolph's  comment  and,  what  was 
infinitely  worse,  she  feared  the  novelist  had  heard 
it,  too.  Therefore,  to  save  the  feelings  of  the  bald 
little  man,  she  flung  herself  into  the  talk. 

"  I  see  exactly  what  you  mean,"  she  told  him. 
"  Your  idea  is  that,  when  you  have  conceived  a 
character  that  is  wholly  original  — 

"  Ahem !  "  Dolph  strangled  suddenly. 

But  Olive  continued,  without  pause  for  flinching, 
for  now  the  bald  little  novelist  was  facing  her  in 
tently,  and  it  was  plain,  from  the  tentative  waggling 
of  his  beard,  that  he  would  mount  his  hobby  and  be 
off  again,  if  she  gave  him  so  much  as  a  comma's 
breadth  by  which  to  creep  back  into  the  talk. 

"  Wholly  original,"  she  repeated  sternly ;  "  that 
it  must  be  very  trying  to  be  obliged  to  descend  to 
the  every  day  of  things,  and  name  her  Mamie." 

There  came  a  peal  of  laughter  at  the  accent  with 


130  THE    BRENTONS 

which  Olive  had  contrived  to  endow  the  name.  The 
peal  was  cut  short,  however,  by  the  fussy  accent  of 
the  little  novelist. 

"  You  have  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  Miss  Olive, 
distinctly  on  the  head,"  he  assured  her,  with  a  bow 
and  smile  so  suave  as  to  be  devoid  of  meaning. 
"  Really,"  and  Olive  felt  as  if  she  were  a  young  child 
and  he  were  offering  her  a  stick  of  candy ;  "  it  was 
a  very  smart  little  tap.  Yes,  as  you  say,  a  Mamie 
is  an  anticlimax  to  one's  best  endeavours.  Now,  if 
all  the  ladies,"  Olive  had  a  momentary  longing  to 
hurl  a  plate  in  his  unctuous  direction ;  "  only  were 
blessed  with  names  like  yours,  we  poor  novelists  would 
never  be  devoid  of  sources  for  our  inspiration." 

"  Encore !  "  remarked  Dolph  Dennison,  with  ad 
mirable  gravity. 

Once  again  Olive  sought  to  save  the  situation,  as 
well  as  to  remove  the  subject  of  the  talk  from  rest 
ing  solely  on  herself. 

"  If  that  is  all  you  want,"  she  answered  lightly ; 
"  you  surely  will  find  Mrs.  Brenton's  name  offering 
you  all  sorts  of  inspiration,  much  better  than  any 
thing  mine  could  give." 

"Mrs.  Brenton?"  The  little  novelist  was  pal 
pably  uncertain  as  to  whom  the  name  belonged.  He 
was  not  only  Unitarian  by  theology,  but  inattentive 
by  profession;  and,  moreover,  he  had  but  just  re 
turned  from  a  copy-hunting  trip  in  the  direction  of 
his  raucous  West. 

"  Yes."  Olive  made  signals  of  distress  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  rector's  wife  who  was  bending  above  her 
salad,  with  every  appearance  of  anxious  absorption 
in  her  tour  of  discovery  among  its  elements.  Her 


THE    BRENTONS  131 

colour  betrayed  her,  though,  and  Olive  judged  it 
would  be  the  part  of  wisdom  to  drag  her  by  the 
heels  into  the  talk.  "  Mrs.  Brenton,  I  am  just  tell 
ing  Mr.  Prather  what  a  benefactor  you  ought  to  be 
considered,  according  to  his  notion  about  names. 
Surely,  yours  is  unusual  enough  to  win  his  full 
approval." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  Olive  realized  the  vapidness  of 
her  words  and  was  ashamed  of  them.  An  instant 
later,  though,  her  shame  exchanged  itself  for  aston 
ishment. 

The  rector's  lady  raised  her  brows,  and  spoke 
with  studied  carelessness. 

"  Really,  Miss  Keltridge,"  she  said  calmly ;  "  there 
is  nothing  so  very  unusual  in  the  name  of  Kathryn." 

"  Kathryn  !  "  Olive  fairly  stuttered  over  her  reply, 
for  she  saw  Scott  Brenton's  eyes  turn  to  his  wife, 
and  she  read  amazement  in  them,  amazement  and 
something  else  that  was  dangerously  akin  to  con 
tempt.  "  I  thought  your  name  was  Catia,  Mrs. 
Brenton." 

But  Kathryn  Brenton  laid  down  her  fork,  as 
though  the  salad  had  ceased  to  interest  her.  Then 
she  spoke,  and  her  accent  conveyed  the  same  impres 
sion  as  concerned  the  conversation. 

"  Oh,  no;  Catia  is  just  a  little  nickname.  That  is 
all.  My  name  is  really  Kathryn." 

And  then,  for  an  instant  and  to  her  lasting  shame, 
Olive  Keltridge's  glance  sought  that  of  Brenton. 
Before  the  hurt  and  abased  look  in  his  deep  gray 
eyes,  her  own  eyes  dropped,  ashamed  and  pitiful. 
What  right  had  she,  in  a  moment  so  tragic,  albeit 
so  very,  very  petty,  to  spy  upon  him  in  his  disap- 


132  THE    BRENTONS 

pointment?    What  right  to  obtrude  her  honest  sym 
pathy  upon  his  secret  pain? 

She  dropped  her  eyes,  then,  promptly.  None  the 
less,  Scott  Brenton  realized  that,  a'one  of  all  the 
group  about  the  table,  Olive  Keltridge  had  recognized 
both  elements :  the  secret,  and  the  pain. 


CHAPTER    TWELVE 

IT  was  Catia,  then,  or,  rather,  Kathryn,  who  kept 
a  weather  eye  upon  the  social  powers  of  the  parish. 
Brenton  was  too  busy  doing  other  things.  Somebody, 
though,  she  argued,  must  look  out  for  the  personal 
end  of  life,  as  well  as  for  the  theological.  Else,  the 
parish  would  fall  to  pieces  about  their  ears.  Brenton 
might  be  giving  them  the  bread  of  life;  but  man 
should  not  live  by  bread  alone.  He  needed  an 
occasional  cup  of  afternon  tea  to  wash  it  down. 
Therefore  Kathryn  revised  her  social  balance  sheets 
often  and  with  the  utmost  care. 

Out  of  deference  to  what  Kathryn  was  still  pleased 
to  term  her  husband's  cloth,  the  Brcntons  promptly 
had  been  received  into  the  inmost  circles  of  the  college 
set,  an  honour  which  they  shared  with  Prather,  the 
fussy  little  novelist.  Kathryn  liked  the  novelist ;  he 
was  such  an  unctuous,  eager  little  man,  so  redolent 
of  the  elements  that  went  into  his  careful  grooming. 
She  even  tried  in  vain  to  read  his  novels ;  but  they 
proved  too  much  for  her.  She  explained  to  him  that 
his  local  colour  was  so  brilliant  that  it  dazzled  her; 
but  the  ignoble  truth  was  that  she  found  it  boring, 
although  her  letters  going  out  of  town  were  splashed 
thickly  with  his  name. 

At    the    faculty    wives    Kathryn    looked    askance. 


134  THE    BRENTONS 

They  most  of  them  knew  things  and  they  wore  their 
clothes  as  if  they  were  accustomed  to  them.  Never 
theless,  they  seemed  to  her  a  little  bit  old-fashioned. 
Some  of  the  grown-up  daughters,  the  ones  who  had 
not  been  in  college,  she  liked  a  little  better.  Never 
theless,  Kathryn's  attempts  at  closest  comradeship 
were  with  certain  of  the  young  instructors.  She 
told  herself  that  she  was  mothering  them,  giving  their 
homeless  selves  an  outlook  on  domestic  life.  What 
the  young  instructors  told,  would  be  better  for  the 
editing.  Indeed,  it  was  somewhat  edited  and  pruned 
of  its  finest  flowers  of  speech,  out  of  loyalty  to 
Brenton  whom  they  one  and  all  admired  exceedingly. 

Brenton  himself,  meanwhile,  though  liking  those 
jovial  youngsters  who,  in  reality,  were  of  his  age  and 
epoch,  was  finding  his  most  satisfying  intimacy  in 
the  friendship  of  two  of  the  older  men:  Doctor 
Eustace  Keltridge,  and  Professor  Opdyke. 

Of  the  two  of  them,  both  mellow  men  of  learning 
and  of  kindly  humour,  Doctor  Keltridge  was  easily 
first  choice.  Before  Scott  Brenton  had  been  a  month 
over  Saint  Peter's  Parish,  he  had  fallen  into  the  habit 
of  dropping  in  upon  the  doctor  at  all  sorts  of  hours 
and  upon  all  sorts  of  pretexts,  now  smoking  with  him 
in  the  library  and  discussing  things  ecclesiastical, 
now  following  him  into  the  laboratory,  to  hang  above 
the  trays  of  cultures,  or  the  charts  of  perverse  fever 
cases,  while  the  doctor  expounded  and  predicted,  lay 
ing  down  the  law  with  voice  and  fist  and  trenchant 
word.  He  saw  Olive,  as  a  rule,  when  he  was  passing 
in  and  out.  Sometimes  they  merely  nodded  from 
afar,  sometimes  they  had  a  little  conversation.  It 
was  always  as  immaterial  as  possible,  yet  it  never 


THE    BRENTONS  135 

failed  to  have  a  little  flavour  of  personal  and  friendly 
understanding. 

Next  to  the  absent-minded  and  erratic  doctor, 
Brenton's  loyalty  was  given  to  Professor  Opdyke. 
At  the  very  first,  the  consciousness  that  the  gray- 
haired  professor  was  father  to  his  old-time  idol  had 
made  all  the  difference;  but,  after  a  time,  that  fact 
sank  into  insignificance  beside  the  personality  of  the 
man  himself.  Never  was  any  artist  more  devoted  to 
his  medium,  whether  that  medium  were  water  colours 
or  progressive  harmonies,  than  was  Professor  Opdyke 
to  his  balances  and  his  blow-pipes,  to  his  effervescent 
mixtures  and  to  his  most  unholy  smells.  His  labora 
tory  was  his  studio,  a  place  apart  from  all  the  outside 
world,  the  threshold  where  he  was  content  to  stand 
and  knock,  waiting  in  perfect,  reverential  patience 
until  the  mysterious  door  ahead  of  him  should  open 
just  a  very  little  wider.  To  the  outward  eye,  he 
was  languid,  indifferent,  a  little  cynical  and  prone  to 
boredom.  Underneath  it,  though,  the  fires  of  his 
enthusiasm,  of  his  ambition  to  advance,  not  his  own 
career,  but  the  sum  total  of  scientific  knowledge: 
this  fire  was  burning  at  white  heat.  Indeed,  it  cost 
him  something  to  bank  down  the  flame  upon  the  side 
of  his  nature  which  lay  open  to  the  general  view.  His 
somewhat  cynical  humour  was  the  material  which  he 
selected  for  the  banking. 

Professor  Opdyke  almost  never  was  betrayed  into 
the  sin  of  talking  shop.  Upon  the  rare  occasions  that 
he  gave  himself  the  privilege,  save  to  his  classes,  he 
insisted  upon  but  one  congenial  hearer,  and  that  that 
one  should  be  with  him  behind  closed  doors.  More 
and  more  often,  as  the  second  winter  of  his  acquaint- 


136  THE    BRENTONS 

ance  with  Brenton  went  on,  he  chose  Brenton  as  the 
one  hearer  he  allowed  himself.  This  was  partly  by 
reason  of  Brenton's  interest  in  Reed,  for,  whatever 
his  habit  with  his  chemistry,  it  must  be  confessed  that 
Professor  Opdyke  talked  in  season  and  out  about 
his  son.  Partly,  too,  it  came  by  way  of  Professor 
Mansfield  whose  introduction  of  Brenton  would  have 
been  the  Open,  Sesame  to  any  sanctum  in  America. 
Most  of  all,  though,  it  came  from  Brenton  himself, 
from  the  young  rector's  manifest  enthusiasm  for  all 
that  went  under  the  name  of  chemistry,  an  enthusiasm 
based,  as  Professor  Opdyke  made  prompt  discovery, 
upon  no  mere  smattering  of  knowledge. 

Bit  by  bit,  then,  the  professor  lowered  the  guard 
he  had  built  up  before  his  holy  places,  relaxed  the 
vigilance  of  his  watch  upon  them  lest  they  should  be 
invaded  by  the  careless  feet  of  those  that  did  not 
comprehend.  Scott  Brenton  did  comprehend.  To 
him,  experimenting  was  an  act  of  reverence,  not  a 
deed  of  idle  curiosity.  The  world-laws  were,  to  hjm, 
full  of  purpose,  albeit  only  half  revealed ;  and  blessed 
was  he  who  should  assist  in  the  revealing. 

Brenton,  listening,  talking  in  his  turn,  sometimes 
questioning,  sometimes  uttering  a  trenchant  bit  of 
argument,  felt  the  old  impulses  stirring  within  him, 
felt  the  old  love  of  science  renewing  its  hold  upon  his 
heart  and  brain.  Not  that  he  regretted  his  holy 
calling;  at  least,  not  yet.  It  was  a  goodly  privilege 
to  be  allowed  to  set  forth  to  all  men  the  modern, 
elastic  gospel  of  good  will  coupled  with  a  bowing 
acquaintance  with  the  sciences.  Much  might  be  done, 
that  way,  he  told  himself,  while  steadily  he  disregarded 
the  voices  whispering  in  his  ears  that  he  was  offering 


THE    BRENTONS  137 

his  parishioners  a  set  of  pretty  painted  toys  instead 
of  the  rugged,  vital  facts  of  universal  law.  Still,  the 
toys  were  prettier  and  vastly  more  refined  than  were 
the  old-time  goblins  of  his  mother's  day,  the  goblins 
marched  to  and  fro  persistently  by  half  a  score  of 
Parson  Wheelers  in  their  time.  Those  were  monstrosi 
ties,  palpably  of  human  creation  and  yet  in  the  like 
ness  of  no  mortal  thing.  The  toys  he  offered  to 
his  people  were  at  least  shaped  and  coloured  into 
dainty  imitation  of  existing  facts.  So  far  as  he 
helped  on  the  substitution,  he  was  a  benefactor  to  all 
mankind.  And  yet,  it  would  have  been  good  to  bare 
his  hands  and  arms,  and  with  them  grasp  and  wrestle 
with  the  naked  facts,  elusive  facts,  despite  their  rug- 
gedness.  Nevertheless,  he  bravely  smothered  his  de 
sires.  He  even,  and  to  himself,  professed  to  ignore 
the  way  they  multiplied,  after  an  afternoon  in  the 
society  of  Professor  Opdyke.  However,  ignore  them 
as  he  would  and  did,  they  burnt  within  him  with  an 
increasing  fierceness,  burnt  away,  indeed,  some  of  the 
scaffolding  upon  which  his  system  of  theology  had 
reared  itself. 

More  than  a  little  of  this  conflagration  the  professor 
realized.  Also  he  realized  its  potential  danger.  If 
the  scaffolding  began  to  go,  what  then?  Would  the 
flames  blaze  up  all  the  higher  on  the  heap  of  fallen 
ruins ;  or  would  the  ice  water  which,  in  the  Parson 
Wheelers,  had  taken  the  place  of  good  red  blood, 
spurt  from  the  veins  of  this,  their  latter-day  descend 
ant,  and  quench  the  fires  before  they  reached  the 
superstructure  of  his  faith?  The  professor  realized 
to  the  full,  moreover,  his  personal  accountability  in 
the  matter.  None  the  less,  he  could  never  quite  decide 


138  THE    BRENTONS 

where  the  real  right  lay.  Should  he  ignore  the  pos 
sible  loss  to  science  or  should  he  help  on  the  probable 
loss  to  theologic  eloquence?  He  shook  his  head  at 
the  question.  Like  all  true  scientists,  he  must  hold 
himself  impartial.  Asked,  however,  he  surely  had  no 
moral  right  to  withhold  facts  from  a  mature  mind  like 
that  of  Scott  Brenton.  Facts  he  would  give,  and 
plainly,  and  without  modification  or  omission.  There, 
though,  he  would  stop.  The  inferences  which  Brenton 
should  draw  out  from  them  should  be  no  concern  of 
his. 

And  Scott  Brenton  who,  from  the  start,  had  had  a 
trick  of  drawing  inferences  to  suit  himself,  was  all 
the  better  pleased  on  that  account. 

By  degrees,  then,  the  intimacy  between  the  two  men 
waxed  strong.  The  one  imparted  things ;  the  other 
absorbed  them  greedily.  As  time  went  on,  there  were 
few  days  in  the  week  which  did  not  find  them  together 
at  some  hour  and  place  or  other:  in  the  laboratory, 
in  the  rector's  study  at  the  church,  on  the  golf  links, 
or  scouring  the  hill  and  valley  roads  that  stretched 
out,  a  lovely  network  to  enmesh  the  town. 

One  such  walk  had  been  scheduled  for  a  day  in 
April,  a  day  when  the  whole  physical  world  is  a  fra 
grant  commentary  on  the  truths  of  resurrection.  The 
professor,  it  had  been  agreed,  should  call  for  Brenton 
at  two.  At  half-past  two,  he  had  not  appeared ;  and 
Brenton,  loath  to  lose  his  half-day  in  the  open,  set 
out  in  search  of  him. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  the  search  began  in  the 
outer  laboratory  where,  in  all  probability,  the  pro 
fessor  had  been  hindered  by  a  student  grappling  either 
with  conscience  or  a  condition,  perhaps,  indeed,  with 


THE    BRENTONS  139 

both  combined.  Such  things  had  happened  more  than 
once  in  Brenton's  experience  of  the  department.  The 
fact  that  it  was  a  girls'  college,  though,  made  the 
earlier  alternative  more  probable  than  was  the  later 
one.  Brenton  smiled  a  little,  as  he  thanked  his  lucky 
stars  that  it  was  not  the  custom  of  the  college  girls 
to  haunt  their  spiritual  pilots  as  insistently  as  some 
of  them  haunted  their  mental  ones.  Smiling  still,  he 
doffed  his  hat  before  the  dozen  girls  in  the  outer 
laboratory,  while  he  looked  about  him.  Professor 
Opdyke  was  not  there.  After  an  instant's  hesitation, 
Brenton  crossed  the  intervening  strip  of  floor  and 
tapped  upon  the  door  leading  to  the  private 
laboratory  beyond. 

"  Come  in." 

The  voice  was  more  than  a  trifle  husky ;  and  the 
professor's  chair  was  carefully  planted  with  its  high 
back  to  the  light.  The  professor  was  in  the  chair, 
and  bent  above  the  table  which,  Brenton's  quick  eye 
noted,  was  bare  of  anything  that  looked  like  work. 
As  Brenton's  face  appeared  in  the  doorway,  Professor 
Opdyke  looked  up  at  him  in  a  vague  uncertainty  which 
all  at  once  changed  to  a  guilty  recognition. 

"  Brenton !  I  quite  forgot.  I  'm  very  sorry,"  he 
said ;  but  his  voice  lacked  all  resonance.  "  The  fact 
is,  I  've  had  news  from  Reed." 

"Bad?"  The  curt  monosyllable  was  kinder  than 
many  words. 

The  professor  nodded. 

"  There  's  been  an  accident." 

"  He 's  not  —  '  Brenton  faltered  at  the  grisly 
word,  not  so  much  in  mercy  to  the  father,  seated  there 
before  him,  as  because  the  old-time  love  for  that 


140  THE    BRENTONS 

father's  son  seemed  to  rise  up  and  catch  him  by  the 
throat  and  strangle  him. 

The  Professor  gave  a  long,  shuddering  sigh,  the 
sigh  of  a  woman  verging  on  hysterics. 

"  No ;  not  that  —  yet.  They  '11  wire  again,  to 
night,  they  tell  me." 

"  When  did  you  hear?  " 

"  Just  now.  An  hour  ago.  His  mother  does  n't 
know  it  yet.  Brenton,  I  've  got  to  tell  her."  And  the 
professor  turned  a  wan,  appealing  face  up  to  the 
younger  man,  as  though  in  search  of  help. 

"Yes."  The  single  word  fell  heavily.  "You 
must."  But  Brenton,  even  while  he  was  speaking, 
shut  his  teeth  upon  the  thought.  Then  the  priest 
within  him  rallied  to  the  need,  although  the  latent  man 
of  science  in  him  forbade  him  to  accompany  the  rally 
ing  with  many  words.  "  Can  I  be  of  any  help?  " 

"  If  you  feel  you  could  go  to  the  house  with  me, 
Brenton.  You  knew  Reed." 

Brenton's  alert  ear  caught  the  unconscious  change 
of  tense.  He  interrupted  with  a  question. 

"Just  how  bad  is  it?" 

"  I  don't  know.  '  Badly  hurt ',  the  telegram  says. 
'  Will  wire  again  in  a  few  hours  '.  I  suppose  it 's  the 
same  old  story :  an  explosive  and  a  panic.  Somebody 
probably  tried  to  stir  a  fire  with  a  stick  of  frozen 
dynamite,  or  some  such  foolery  as  that."  The  scorn 
in  the  words  came  from  the  effort  at  self-mastery. 
Then  the  professor  rose  and  looked  about  him  vaguely 
for  his  hat.  When  he  had  found  it,  "  Come  along," 
he  bade  Brenton  shortly.  "  We  've  got  to  get  it  over, 
even  if  it  kills  her.  I  believe  in  anaesthetics  and 
hypnosis  in  such  a  case  as  this:  drugging  the  victim 


THE    BRENTONS  141 

and  then  impressing  on  him  that  he  has  always  known 
the  trouble  and  that  it 's  certain  to  come  out  all  right 
in  time.  Well,  are  you  coming?  "  The  voice  sharp 
ened  again  in  its  impatience  to  have  the  bad  hour  over. 

Out  in  the  street  and  walking  rapidly  towards  home, 
the  professor  spoke  once  more.  This  time,  there  was 
no  sharpness,  but  rather  the  same  note  of  appeal 
which  Brenton  had  heard  a  little  earlier. 

"  Brenton,  it 's  your  chance  now.  I  've  been  show 
ing  you  the  best  of  all  my  science.  Now,  for  God's 
sake,  give  me  back  the  best  of  your  religion.  In  a 
time  like  this,  science  can't  help  us  much.  It  shows 
us  all  the  worst  of  things,  and  shuts  down  before 
whatever  best  there  is.  If  your  religion  is  any  good 
at  all,  now  is  the  time  we  need  to  make  it  count. 
Else,  what 's  its  use?  " 

Before  the  unexpected,  swift  appeal,  Brenton  was 
dumb.  What  was  the  use,  especially  to  a  man  like 
Professor  Opdyke  ?  It  was  all  very  well  to  talk  about 
Reed's  being  safe  in  his  Maker's  hands,  when  common 
sense  and  science  alike  were  insisting  upon  it  that  it 
was  in  all  probability  the  hands  of  the  surgeon  who 
could  rescue  him  from  peril ;  that  much  less  depended 
upon  prayer  than  on  the  sterilizing  processes.  Of 
course,  no  one,  however  scientific,  could  deny  the 
Master's  law  at  the  back  of  everything ;  but  that  law 
was  a  trifle  too  remote  to  be  a  potent  source  of  comfort 
to  a  quivering  mind.  Besides,  when,  in  all  probability, 
it  was  that  same  law,  either  in  breach  or  in  observance, 
which  had  caused  the  trouble,  it  seemed  a  little  bit 
unmerciful  to  brandish  the  cause  as  an  instrument  of 
healing. 

After  all,  in  such  a  case  as  this,  what  was  religion 


142  THE    BRENTONS 

good  for?  One  believed  things,  but  only  so  far  as  they 
were  based  on  law;  and  law  is  a  stiff  sort  of  moral 
plaster  to  apply  to  a  bleeding  wound.  Of  course, 
there  was  an  infinite  array  of  platitudes,  phrased  to 
fit  every  sort  of  emergency  known  to  man.  However, 
in  a  crisis  such  as  this,  it  seemed  to  Brenton  something 
little  short  of  deliberate  insult  to  offer  a  platitude  to 
a  man  of  Professor  Opdyke's  sort.  All  he  could  find 
to  do,  then,  was  to  stand  by  and  hold  himself  and 
them  quite  steady. 

And  stand  by  steadily  he  did,  all  through  that  inter 
minable  April  afternoon  while  the  sun  came  sifting 
down  through  the  elm  buds,  to  throw  irrelevant  golden 
splashes  across  their  gloom;  while  the  merry  voices 
of  the  college  girls,  passing  by  in  the  street  outside, 
came  floating  in  across  their  waiting  silence.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  world  that  he  could  do,  except 
to  be  there  and,  now  and  then,  to  stave  off  a  caller 
too  insistent  to  be  appeased  by  any  bulletin  issued  by 
the  maid.  Among  those  callers  was  Prather,  the 
novelist.  Priest  though  he  was,  Brenton  was  con 
scious  of  a  human  and  athletic  wish  to  wring  his  neck, 
so  palpably  was  his  expression  of  fussy  sympathy 
mingled  with  the  professional  sense  of  copy  latent  in 
the  situation. 

And  at  last,  when  twilight  had  dulled  the  sunshine 
and  sent  the  chattering,  laughing  college  girls  home 
to  supper,  a  messenger  boy  came  to  the  door  to  bring 
a  yellow  envelope. 

Professor  Opdyke  tore  it  open.  Then,  forgetful 
of  his  science,  — 

"  Thank  God ! "  he  said  quite  simply,  as  he  read 
the  message  to  his  wife. 


THE    BRENTONS  143 

Next  morning  early,  Brenton  went  to  them  again. 
He  found  them  taking  breakfast  with  good  appetite, 
while  they  made  an  infinite  variety  of  plans  for  the 
home-coming  of  the  invalid.  There  had  been  two  more 
telegrams,  the  previous  evening,  and  a  night  letter 
had  followed  them.  To  Brenton,  however,  the  par 
ticulars  seemed  glorious  rather  than  reassuring.  In 
stead  of  the  fire  stirred  with  a  stick  of  dynamite,  there 
had  been  something  infinitely  more  deadly.  A  care 
less  blast,  set  off  by  an  inexperienced  miner,  had 
brought  down  a  fall  of  rock  where  it  had  been  least 
expected.  A  dozen  men  had  been  injured,  and  some 
of  the  shoring  had  been  loosened,  imperilling  the  lives 
of  many  more.  No  reasonably  sane  consulting  en 
gineer,  however  conscientious,  could  have  imagined 
it  his  duty  to  lead  the  work  of  rescue.  Measured  by 
the  value  to  the  corporation,  his  one  brain  was  worth 
a  dozen  score  of  miners'  lives.  Nevertheless,  Reed 
Opdyke  had  not  viewed  the  matter  in  that  light.  He 
was  alert  and  strong,  trained  to  face  every  possible 
emergency  known  underground.  Moreover,  he  knew 
better  than  any  other  man  the  conditions  likely  to 
be  existent  in  the  dismantled  vein.  Therefore  it  was 
Reed  Opdyke  who  had  led  the  first  of  the  rescue 
parties. 

Quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  he  had  made  his  way 
directly  to  the  injured  men,  had  helped  to  carry  them 
back  safely  to  the  main  shaft.  Providence  always 
looks  out  for  little  things  like  that.  It  uses  its  tools 
before  it  blunts  them.  Then  Opdyke  had  gone  back 
again  into  the  vein,  to  see  if  he  could  make  up  his 
mind,  at  a  superficial  glance,  concerning  the  extent 
of  the  damage  and  the  best  chances  for  repairing  it. 


144  THE    BRENTONS 

It  was  then  that  he  found  one  more  miner,  wedged 
between  the  loosened  timbers  of  the  shoring.  At  best, 
minutes  were  ahead  of  him,  not  hours.  At  best,  the 
danger  in  freeing  him  was  almost  infinite.  None  the 
less,  while  other  men  faltered  and  drew  back,  afraid, 
Opdyke  had  sent  an  ax  crashing  into  the  weakened 
timbers. 

All  this  was  told  to  the  professor  briefly.  The  rest 
of  the  message  was  couched  in  terms  so  surgical  as 
to  convey  scant  meaning  to  Scott  Brenton's  brain. 
At  the  very  end,  there  were  two  dates,  both  only  pos 
sible,  both  so  remote  as  to  turn  Brenton  sick  at  heart. 
Was  it  for  this  that  such  men  as  Reed  Opdyke  were 
created?  Was  nature  merciless,  was  law,  that  it  or 
dained  such  pitiful,  pitiless  waste? 

It  was  with  these  questions  ringing  in  his  brain, 
then,  that  Scott  Brenton,  after  his  old  fashion,  shut 
his  teeth  askew  and  awaited  the  still  distant  home 
coming  of  his  old-time  idol.  He  gained  the  slimmest 
sort  of  comfort  by  remembering  how  characteristic  it 
all  was  of  the  boy  he  used  to  know. 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN 

THAT  Reed  Opdyke  was  very  badly  broken,  no  one, 
seeing  him,  could  deny.  Exactly  what  was  the  nature 
of  the  break,  no  one  but  Reed  Opdyke  and  the  sur 
geons  knew.  The  surgeons  were  inclined  to  secrecy. 
Reed  himself  welcomed  no  queries  on  the  subject.  He 
merely  smiled  inscrutably,  and  talked  about  the 
weather. 

When,  in  late  May,  he  first  came  home,  his  room 
threatened  to  become  a  place  for  penitential  pilgrim 
age,  a  memento-mori  species  of  lay  shrine;  but  Reed 
stopped  all  that  quite  firmly.  He  had  no  mind  to  be 
a  hero  anywhere,  least  of  all  in  a  town  where  ninety- 
seven  per  cent  of  the  populace  was  feminine.  More 
over,  unkindly  as  he  took  to  hero  worship,  he  took 
still  more  unkindly  to  visits  that  quite  obviously  were 
intended  to  console  him. 

"  The  Lord  knows  how  long  I  'm  destined  to  be 
lying  up  here,"  he  remarked  to  Olive  Keltridge,  after 
one  such  visitation.  "  Anyhow,  it  is  sure  to  be  long 
enough  for  people  to  get  the  habit  of  me,  and  a  chronic 
invalid  is  bound  to  be  used  as  a  spiritual  salve.  One 
takes  him  tracts  and  grape-fruit  jelly,  by  way  of 
offset  to  domestic  rows.  I  'm  not  going  to  become 
accessory  after  the  fact  to  all  the  local  improprieties. 


THE    BRENTONS 

It  would  have  a  rotten  influence  upon  the  entire  com 
munity." 

Olive,  who  had  dropped  in  ostensibly  for  purposes 
of  gossip,  nodded  in  comprehension.  Indeed,  she  was 
in  a  position  to  comprehend  the  situation  a  long  way 
more  perfectly  than  even  Reed,  its  victim  and  by 
no  means  of  doubtful  understanding,  could  ever  do. 
She  heard  him  talked  about  in  a  fashion  that  she 
found  revolting.  Her  old-time  comrade  was  as  much 
a  man  as  ever,  despite  his  injuries,  as  sane  in  all 
his  outlook,  as  whimsical  and  impersonal  in  his  fun. 
She  therefore  resented  the  universal  attitude  of  re 
garding  him  as  a  crushed  archangel,  a  candidate  for 
repeated  and  unlimited  doses  of  mental  gruel.  If 
ever  a  man  needed  solid  social  nutriment,  it  was  this 
energetic  young  engineer  who  was  temporarily 
dragged  off  from  the  scene  of  action  and  reduced  to 
the  need  of  killing  time  within  the  limits  of  four 
walls.  Indeed,  it  would  take  a  good  deal  of  social 
nutriment  and  social  spice  as  well,  to  bring  four  walls 
and  the  exciting  alternations  of  a  canopy-top  bed  and 
a  chintz  couch  up  to  the  level  of  interest  gained  out 
of  a  succession  of  different  mining  camps  and  the 
different  problems  they  presented,  above  ground  and 
below.  To  Reed  Opdyke,  used  to  tramping  over 
mountain  trails,  accustomed  to  riding  anything  from 
a  half-broken  cayuse  to  a  wabbly  platform  at  a 
rope's  end,  the  day's  journey  nowadays  limited  itself 
to  being  lifted  out  of  bed  in  the  arms  of  his  lusty 
nurse,  being  placed  with  all  discretion  in  the  exact 
middle  of  a  couch  and  in  being  trundled  slowly  across 
the  floor  to  the  bay  window.  Later  in  the  day,  the 
process  repeated  itself  in  the  reverse  direction,  but 


THE    BRENTONS  147 

with  even  greater  care  because  of  the  fatiguing  ex 
periences  of  the  day.  Therefore  it  was  that  Reed 
Opdyke  preferred  his  visitors  to  have  the  flavour  of 
tabasco,  rather  than  whipped  cream. 

Olive  dropped  in  upon  him,  every  day,  and  she 
always  found  a  welcome.  She  had  known  Reed  long 
enough  not  to  be  likely  to  collide  with  any  of  his  prej 
udices.  She  had  rollicked  with  him  in  his  active  days 
often  enough  to  save  him  from  feeling  any  ignominy 
in  having  her  behold  him  in  his  passive  ones.  She  was 
never  sentimental;  never,  since  their  first  inevitable 
bad  half-hour  together  after  his  return,  had  she  torn 
her  hair,  metaphorically  speaking,  above  the  spectacle 
of  his  afflictions.  She  merely  handed  him  the  things 
he  could  n't  reach ;  and  gossiped  ceaselessly  about 
the  things  that  were  happening  among  their  common 
friends,  without  making  him  half  frantic  because  he 
could  not  go  out  and  happen,  too.  She  even,  and 
therein  lay  her  final  greatness,  blinked  at  Reed's  occa 
sional  profanity  as  concerned  his  accident,  whereas 
the  average  woman  would  have  wept  maudlinly. 

"  Your  vocabulary  is  a  picturesque  one,  Reed," 
she  told  him,  upon  one  occasion.  "  I  ought  to  be 
shocked ;  but  I  've  known  you  too  long  to  be  shocked 
at  anything  you  do.  Besides,  in  the  end  of  all  things, 
I  imagine  I  should  follow  your  own  deplorable 
methods  of  speech.  Swearing  may  not  be  decent 
socially ;  but  it 's  a  healthy  pastime.  Only  look  out 
you  don't  do  it  in  the  midst  of  a  pastoral  call." 

"  By  the  way,"  Reed  looked  up  suddenly ;  "  I  hear 
that  one  is  imminent." 

Olive  lifted  her  brows. 

"Who?" 


H8  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Brenton." 

"  Have  n't  you  seen  him  yet?  " 

Reed  shook  his  head. 

"  No.  It 's  been  pretty  decent  of  him,  too,  to  hold 
off  a  little.  Most  parsons  would  have  rushed  in,  hot 
foot,  to  administer  extreme  unction  and  be  sure  I 
was  in  a  proper  mood  concerning  Providence. 
Brenton  has  had  the  decency  to  wait  a  little.  It  was 
almighty  decent,  too.  I  knew  him  in  my  palmy  days, 
when  life  was  young.  It 's  young  for  him  still  — 
Hold  on,  Olive ;  I  'm  not  going  to  maunder !  —  and  I 
had  a  natural  dread  of  having  him  come  piling  in  here 
to  crow  about  himself  and  cackle  over  me." 

Olive's  laugh  was  obviously  forced.  Even  the  most 
irresponsible  of  gossips  is  not  always  altogether  hard 
ened. 

"  I  love  your  metaphors,  Reed,"  she  told  him.  "  To 
be  sure,  it  never  had  occurred  to  me  that  Saint  Peter's 
cock  and  Saint  Peter's  rector  were  identical  terms." 

Reed  digressed. 

"What's  Brenton's  wife  turned  into?"  he  in 
quired. 

Olive  cast  an  apologetic  glance  at  Mrs.  Opdyke, 
knitting  by  the  other  window.  Then  she  dropped 
her  hands,  palms  up,  into  her  lap.  The  gesture  was  so 
expressive  as  not  to  need  the  one  word  of  her  answer. 

"  Impossible." 

"  I  'm  not  surprised." 

"  You  had  seen  her?  " 

"  Yes,  at  our  commencement.  She  was  a  country 
daisy,  if  you  choose ;  but  a  nig-nose  one,  not  a  placid 
ox-eye." 

This  time,  Olive  felt  called  on  to  remonstrate. 


THE    BREXTONS  149 

"  Reed,  you  are  becoming  intolerable.  A  man  flat 
on  his  back  ought  to  be  pondering  upon  the  convolu 
tions  of  his  soul,  not  cultivating  flowers  of  rhetoric." 

"  Soul  be  hanged !  I  keep  insisting  that  mine  is  n't 
in  any  more  need  of  attention  than  it  was  when  I  was 
up  and  doing,  and  it 's  a  long  way  greater  bore. 
Besides,  I  am  prouder  of  my  rhetoric  than  of  my 
spiritual  convolutions.  But  about  Brenton's  wife? 
She  seemed  to  me  then  the  typical  shrewd  Yankee 
who  would  adapt  herself  to  any  sort  of  circumstances 
and  get  the  best  end  of  any  sort  of  bargain." 

Olive  nodded. 

"  You  've  about  hit  it,  Reed.  But  then,  I  'm  not 
fair  to  her." 

"  Not  your  sort,  eh?  "  But  Reed,  as  he  looked 
at  Olive  and  remembered  Catia,  felt  no  real  need  to 
put  the  question. 

"  It 's  not  that  so  much  —  well  —  no  —  I  can't 
seem  to  understand  her."  Then  Olive's  eyes  met  his 
directly,  and  she  stopped  her  rambling  with  a  little 
laugh.  "  You  need  n't  presume  on  your  position, 
Reed.  It 's  not  decent  to  make  me  tell  what  I  think 
of  Mrs.  Brenton,  when  you  know  you  are  driving 
me  into  a  corner  where  I  either  have  to  lie,  or  else 
abuse  her  to  a  perfectly  strange  man." 

"  I  'm  not  a  strange  man.  I  've  seen  her  in  her 
salad  days.  'T  was  potato  salad,  too,  symbolic  of 
the  soil  whence  she  had  sprung." 

But  Olive  held  up  her  hand  for  mercy. 

"  Reed,  you  are  a  most  impossible  type  of  invalid. 
If  you  keep  on  like  this,  I  '11  tell  Mrs.  Brenton  that 
you  'd  love  to  have  her  come  and  sing  hymns  to 
you." 


150  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Olive !  For  —  "  And  then  his  curiosity  overcame 
his  consternation.  "  Can  she  sing?  "  he  queried. 

"  Very  prettily."  Olive's  accent  defied  analysis. 
"  She  would  love  it,  too.  I  know,  because,  only  the 
other  day,  she  asked  me  to  give  you  a  message." 

"  And  you  embezzled  it  ?  " 

"  Until  it  seemed  a  proper  season.  If  I  had 
given  it  too  early,  you  might  have  mislaid  it  in 
your  memory,  and  forgotten  to  send  a  grateful 
answer." 

"What  did  the  woman  want?"  Reed  questioned, 
with  a  sudden  curtness  that  betrayed  to  Olive's  ear 
the  crackling  of  the  thin  ice  on  which,  day  by  day, 
they  skated  over  the  surface  of  the  tragedy. 

Nevertheless,  Olive  struck  out  fearlessly.  Even  if 
the  ice  did  crack  and  let  them  through,  such  old,  well- 
tried  friends  as  Reed  and  herself  could  face  what  lay 
beneath  it,  without  sentimental  fears.  They  had  taken 
one  such  plunge  together;  they  both  preferred  to 
avoid  another,  if  they  could,  and  yet  better  to  flounder 
through  the  ice  than  to  keep  away  from  it  entirely. 
Therefore  Olive's  tone  was  nonchalant,  as  she  re 
ported,  — 

"  I  met  her  in  the  street,  the  day  after  you  came 
home,  and  she  begged  me  to  tell  you  —  " 

"  She  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course  you  'd  be 
bidden  to  the  private  view,"  Reed  interrupted. 

"  Of  course.  The  whole  community  understood 
that.  Else,  what  was  the  use  of  our  breaking  our 
collar  bones  in  unison,  when  you  lured  me  into  tobog 
ganing  off  the  barn? "  Olive  replied  promptly. 
"  Where  was  I  ?  Oh,  yes,  —  begged  me  to  tell  you 
how  well  she  remembered  your  kindness  to  her  —  yes, 


THE    BRENTONS  151 

your  kindness  —  when  she  was  a  shy  child  from  the 
country." 

Reed's  comment  was  a  terse  one. 

"  Shy !     She !  "  he  said. 

"  You  sound  like  an  Indian  dialect.  However  — 
And  that  she  should  claim  a  place  among  your  earlier 
friends,  when  the  time  came  when  they  could  sit  with 
you." 

Reed  squirmed. 

"  Sit  with !  Oh,  Lord !  That  settles  it,  Olive.  In 
spite  of  all  your  polite  evasions,  the  town  does  look 
upon  me  as  a  moral  asset,  a  chronic  case  to  be  put 
upon  a  par  with  other  charities,"  he  said,  with  sudden 
bitterness. 

Olive's  colour  came,  though  not  from  annoyance. 

"  Don't  be  a  dunce,  Reed,"  she  besought  him. 
"  You  merely  are  the  latest  sensation  in  returning 
prodigals ;  you  have  n't  sufficient  staying  power  to 
become  a  charity,  or  even  a  fad.  Then  I  shall  tell 
the  sympathetic  lady  —  ?  " 

"  To  go  to  everlasting  thunder,"  Reed  growled 
ungratefully.  "  Hang  it  all,  Olive,  does  she  think 
I  want  a  row  of  hens  coming  to  cluck  above  the 
ruins  ?  " 

"  Which  reminds  me,"  Olive  rose ;  "  when  do  you 
look  for  the  conjugal  rooster?  " 

"  Brenton?  Sit  down  again;  you're  not  in  any 
hurry,"  Reed  urged  her. 

But  she  shook  her  head. 

"  No ;  but  I  am  a  hen,  and  nobody  knows  when  I 
may  forget  myself  and  begin  to  cluck.  No.  Truly, 
Reed,  my  feelings  are  injured  and  I'm  going 
home." 


152  THE    BRENTONS 

"  What 's  the  use?  You  've  nothing  in  the  world 
to  do." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  have  domestic  cares.  My 
blessed  father  has  to  go  to  Boston  at  two-twenty.  If 
I  don't  go  home  in  season  to  arouse  him  to  the  prac 
tical  details  inherent  in  the  fact,  he  '11  be  starting 
off  in  slippers  and  without  his  evening  clothes. 
Really,  Reed,  I  've  got  to  go." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  this  afternoon? " 
Reed's  eyes  were  wishful,  for  the  time  was  hanging 
heavy  in  his  idle  hands.  "  Of  course,  though,  there  's 
no  sense  in  my  being  selfish." 

Olive  saw  the  wishfulness ;  but  she  ignored  it.  Both 
Professor  Opdyke  and  her  father  had  told  her  that 
Reed's  sentence  was  a  long  one,  long  and  heavy. 
Both  Mrs.  Opdyke  and  her  husband  had  begged  the 
girl  to  do  what  she  could  to  keep  it  from  seeming  too 
much  like  solitary  confinement.  Olive  was  fond  of 
Reed,  though  without  the  consciousness  of  a  single 
vein  of  sentiment  to  blur  their  friendship.  She  en 
joyed  his  society  as  much  as  she  admired  his  virile, 
easy-going  manliness.  All  the  more,  on  this  account, 
she  was  sure  that  the  only  way  of  keeping  their 
friendship  and  their  enjoyment  keen  would  lie  in 
avoiding  any  surfeit.  For  herself,  she  felt  no  un 
easiness.  Reed's  society,  under  no  circumstances, 
could  become  cloying.  But  for  Reed  she  did  not 
know.  The  idler  the  hands,  the  sooner  they  weary  of 
any  toy.  And  poor  Reed's  hands,  in  all  surety,  were 
very,  very  idle.  Moreover,  unless  she  went  out 
greedily  in  search  of  fresh  variety,  how  could  she 
bring  it  into  his  present  prison?  If  she  spent  too 
much  time  with  him,  inevitably  they  would  exhaust 


THE    BRENTONS  153 

their  fund  of  gossip.  Then  they  would  be  driven  into 
becoming  autobiographical,  and  that  would  be  the 
finish  of  their  present  friendship.  Therefore,  — 

"  Sorry,  Reed,"  she  told  him ;  "  but  there  's  a  tea 
on  at  the  Prathers'.  Earlier,  I  'm  taking  Dolph 
Dennison  canoeing." 

"  Olive !  "  Reed's  accent  was  remonstrant.  "  How 
can  you  stand  that  little  duffer?  " 

Olive  rose  to  the  defence. 

"  He  's  not  such  a  duffer.  Of  course,  he  's  young 
and  callow ;  but  he  's  good  fun." 

"  Yes ;  but  an  instructor,  and  only  rhetoric,  at 
that."  Reed's  voice  showed  his  scorn. 

"  You  're  jealous,  Reed.  You  think  he  will  do 
better  metaphors  than  you ;  but  you  need  n't  worry. 
Dolph  does  n't  talk  shop.  Besides,  he  may  get  to 
be  a  real  professor,  if  he  keeps  at  work ;  and," 
Olive's  glance,  merry  and  not  uncomfortably  pitiful, 
rested  upon  the  long-limbed  figure  lying  so  flat  beside 
her ;  "  even  you  must  admit  it,  Reed,  that  rhetoric 
is  a  much  safer  means  of  livelihood  than  engineering. 
Good  bye,  boy,  and  keep  out  of  mischief  till  I  get 
here,  next  time." 

As  it  chanced,  it  was  that  afternoon  that  Brenton 
came  to  see  him,  for  the  first  time  since  Reed's  return. 
Whatever  Brenton's  thought  about  the  matter,  it 
must  be  confessed  that  Opdyke,  albeit  healthy-minded 
and  as  philosophical  as  a  surgical  case  can  ever  be, 
had  felt  a  good  deal  of  dread  of  their  meeting.  In 
the  old  days,  he  had  been  the  strong  one  and  the 
masterful,  Brenton  the  weak.  The  present  reversal 
of  the  situation  went  upon  his  nerves. 

He  had  remembered  Brenton  clearly,  all  these  in- 


THE    BRENTONS 

tervening  years.  More  than  once,  in  the  intervals 
of  his  strenuous  life,  he  had  found  himself  wonder 
ing  what  the  gaunt  young  countryman  had  become. 
In  the  time  of  it,  Reed  had  had  no  notion  how 
thoroughly  he  had  liked  the  fellow,  how  thoroughly  he 
had  believed  in  his  latent  possibilities.  Looking  back 
upon  them  now,  judging  them  by  the  broader  stand 
ards  of  his  own  wider  knowledge  of  the  things  that 
really  count,  Reed  had  felt  his  old-time  interest  grow 
and  quicken.  It  had  caused  him  no  especial  surprise, 
then,  when  a  letter  from  his  father  had  brought  him 
news  of  the  rector  of  Saint  Peter's.  Neither  had  it 
caused  him  any  more  surprise  when  his  father's  later 
letters  recorded  bit  by  bit  the  intimacy  slowly  grow 
ing  up  between  the  scholarly  young  rector  and  his 
father's  critical  self.  Instead,  Reed  took  a  certain 
comfort  in  reflecting  that  he  had  foreseen  it  all  along. 
However,  he  had  felt  an  undeniable  curiosity  to  see 
the  shabby,  under-nourished  Scott  Brenton,  a  thing 
of  shambling  feet  and  knobbly  joints,  transmogrified 
into  the  well-groomed,  easy-mannered  type  of  rector 
which  had  become  traditional  at  Saint  Peter's. 

Nevertheless,  now  that  he  was  at  home  once  more 
and,  to  all  seeming,  candidate  for  churchly  ministra 
tions,  Reed  found  he  drew  back  a  little  from'  their 
meeting.  At  the  start,  even  though  his  bodily 
strength  allowed  it,  his  nervous  energy  shrank  from 
the  ordeal  of  seeing  people.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
there  would  be  so  many  things  he  ought  to  explain 
to  them  to  make  his  position  clear.  Of  course,  with 
his  family  and  the  Keltridges  and  even  the  de 
spised  Dolph  Dennison,  it  was  different,  although 
even  the  irresponsible  Dolph  had  floundered  and 


THE    BRENTONS  155 

struck  bottom  on  a  conversational  reef  or  two,  and 
it  had  taken  all  Reed's  grip  to  haul  him  off  and 
steer  him  into  deep  waters  and  consequent  safety. 

Left  to  himself  and  thinking  the  matter  over  at  his 
leisure,  Reed  admitted,  with  an  impersonal  candour, 
that  it  was  very  easy  for  his  guests  to  err  in  tact. 
A  man  in  his  predicament  was  bound  to  be  a  trifle 
flooring;  it  did  not  affect  the  question  in  the  least 
that  he  was  in  no  wise  responsible  for  the  predica 
ment.  It  had  resulted,  quite  simply,  from  his  natural 
instincts,  not  from  any  conscious  thirsting  for  fame 
and  for  consequent  Carnegie  medals.  However,  the 
average  visitor  could  not  be  expected  to  be  aware  of 
that ;  and  therefore  he  would  be  more  than  likely  to 
feel  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  say  gracious  things 
in  a  tremulous  falsetto  voice.  In  the  present  case, 
the  question  concerned  itself  with  the  problem  whether 
or  not  Scott  Brenton  would  prove  to  be  the  average 
visitor. 

When  at  last  Brenton  came,  he  proved  himself  to 
be  quite  apart  from  the  average.  He  neither 
floundered,  nor  did  he  err  in  tact.  He  even  forgot 
about  any  proper  greetings,  so  promptly  did  he  fling 
himself  into  a  tide  of  reminiscent  gossip.  Of  course, 
the  gossip  straightway  led  to  a  demand  to  be  brought 
down  to  date  in  Opdyke's  history,  a  demand  which 
concerned  itself  quite  as  much  with  the  technique  of 
mining  as  it  did  with  the  more  personal  aspects  of 
an  engineering  life  and  of  the  final  accident.  They 
reached  that  in  course  of  time,  however;  and  Reed 
told  his  tale  willingly  and  without  too  much  reserva 
tion,  grateful  alike  for  the  sympathetic  interest  and 
comprehension  it  evoked  in  Brenton,  and  for  the  half- 


156  THE    BRENTONS 

dozen  downright  words  with  which  Brenton  spoke  his 
sympathy. 

"  Of  course,"  he  added  thoughtfully,  his  eyes  on 
Opdyke's  face ;  "  it 's  bound  to  be  all  sorts  of  a  bore 
for  a  man  like  you  to  be  lying  up,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  waste  of  time  for  your  profession,  and  of  the 
purely  personal  issue  of  the  aches  of  it.  However,  I 
can't  be  altogether  sorry  for  the  chance  that  strands 
you  here  in  the  edge  of  my  own  puddle.  I  mean  to 
have  all  the  good  of  you,  while  you  're  in  range. 
You  remember  how  the  boys  used  to  call  me  Reed's 
parson  ?  " 

Reed  laughed. 

"You  knew  it  at  the  time?  I  must  say  you  had 
the  trick  of  looking  totally  unconscious.  Well,  it 's 
your  turn  now.  Going,  man  ?  Sorry  you  must ; 
but  you'll  be  coming  in  again,  to-morrow?  No; 
hang  it  all !  You  're  a  parson,  and  to-morrow  is 
Sunday." 

To-morrow  was  Sunday,  and  the  first  one  in  the 
month.  That  meant  three  services  for  Brenton,  plus 
a  Bible  class  at  noon.  Nevertheless,  between  the 
services,  he  contrived  to  drop  in  for  a  look  at  Opdyke ; 
not  that  the  look,  taken  as  itself,  was  needful.  All 
that  morning  long,  and  a  good  share  of  the  night 
before,  there  had  not  left  him  the  picture  of  the  long, 
straight  figure  on  the  couch,  and  of  the  face  above  it, 
the  same  face  he  recalled  so  well,  and  yet  so  curiously 
altered,  strengthened.  The  picture  never  left  him ;  it 
was  most  distinct  of  all,  while,  with  an  unwonted 
throb  in  his  voice,  he  slowly  read  from  the  open  book 
before  him,  — 

"  Thou  dost  not  willingly  afflict  or  grieve  the  chil- 


THE    BRENTONS  157 

dren  of  men  —  In  Thy  wisdom  Thou  hast  seen  fit  to 
visit  him  with  trouble  —  " 

Wisdom !  Thy  wisdom.  Brenton's  mind  lingered 
on  the  words,  even  after  his  tongue  had  passed  on 
to  the  closing  phrases  of  the  prayer.  Thy  wisdom? 
Yes.  But  what  especial  wisdom,  what  ineffable  and 
divine  purpose  lay  behind  the  swift  blow  which  had 
knocked  into  prostrate  helplessness  a  man  such  as 
Reed  Opdyke?  Was  it  quite  honest  and  above-board 
for  him  himself,  Scott  Brenton,  to  kneel  there  in  the 
chancel,  praying  aloud  and  fervently  for  the  sancti- 
fication  of  a  Fatherly  correction  to  him  whose  life, 
from  all  accounts,  had  held  no  flagrant  germ  of  error? 
And  what  especial  sanctification  was  there,  beyond 
shutting  one's  teeth  and  taking  it  quite  pluckily  and 
as  it  came? 

Above  the  open  book,  Scott  Brenton's  eyes,  wide 
open  and  very  lustrous,  were  looking  past  the  bound 
ing  walls  before  him,  seeing  the  brave  smile  that  Reed 
Opdyke  had  sent  after  him  by  way  of  parting. 
Brenton's  voice,  meanwhile,  always  flexible  and  reso 
nant,  was  throbbing  with  thoughts  which  had  no 
possible  relation  with  the  words  now  falling  from 
his  tongue,  — 

"  Fulfil  the  desires  —  as  may  be  most  expedient 
for  them." 

He  recalled  his  mind  to  the  words  he  uttered,  re 
called  it  with  a  jerk.  Was  it  expedient  for  Reed 
Opdyke  to  be  overthrown  and  laid  aside  more  or  less 
indefinitely,  just  as  he  was  about  touching  the  fulness 
of  professional  success?  Who  ordained  what  was 
expedient,  anyway?  Providence? 

And  then,  in  the  hush  that  followed  after  the  bene- 


158  THE    BRENTONS 

diction,  there  came  into  Brenton's  ears  the  echo  of 
Reed's  voice,  gay  and  indomitable  rather  by  force  of 
will  than  from  conviction. 

"  No,"  he  had  said  to  Brenton,  midway  in  their 
conversation  of  the  day  before.  "  No ;  it 's  not  a 
chastisement  of  Providence.  I  have  too  much  respect 
for  Providence  to  lay  off  on  it  the  result  of  some 
infernal  fool's  careless  use  of  explosives.  Providence, 
as  a  rule,  does  n't  go  out  gunning  with  black  powder. 
Its  ways  are  more  ineffable  than  that." 

And  yet,  if  not  Providence,  or  its  equivalent,  Scott 
Brenton  asked  himself  above  his  clasped  hands,  then 
what? 


CHAPTER    FOURTEEN 

IT  was  a  month  or  two  before  he  asked  that  question 
of  Doctor  Eustace  Keltridge;  but,  in  the  end,  it  was 
bound  to  come.  Whatever  a  man  in  Brenton's  posi 
tion  might  think  inside  himself,  professionally  he 
must  talk  of  Providence,  and  of  divine  dispensations, 
and  of  all  the  rest  of  his  ecclesiastical  stock  in  trade. 
Far  harder  than  the  talking,  though,  was  the  assent 
ing  to  others  when  they  talked,  for  then  he  had  no 
choice  of  modifying  phrases ;  he  must  take  it  as  it 
came.  Of  course,  it  never  would  have  done  for  the 
rector  of  St.  Peter's  Parish  to  deny  the  Fatherly 
finger  of  correction  as  the  motive  power  of  Reed 
Opdyke's  chastisement.  None  the  less,  the  increasing 
number  of  hours  he  contrived  to  spend  in  Opdyke's 
room  gave  a  decreasing  heartiness  to  his  assent. 
Even  if  he  was  a  preacher,  Scott  Brenton  was  a  judge 
of  men.  No  man  who  was  not  a  dunce  could  have 
studied  Opdyke,  through  all  those  weeks,  and  come  out 
from  the  study  to  deny  the  inherent  cleanliness  and 
uprightness  of  his  life.  Then,  wherefore  the  chastise 
ment?  Study  the  case  as  he  would  through  the  lens 
of  his  ecclesiasticism,  Scott  Brenton  could  not  discover 
any  especial  need  of  sanctification  for  the  virile,  clever 
engineer. 

"  And  yet,"  he  burst  out  to  Doctor  Keltridge  over 


160  THE    BRENTONS 

a  cigar,  one  day ;  "  we  are  bound  by  all  our  articles 
of  indenture,  we  preachers,  to  prate  about  the  hand 
of  the  Lord  and  special  Providences,  when  all  the 
time  we  know  the  trouble  came  out  of  somebody's 
running  up  against  simple,  scientific  law.  It 's 
theology,  not  science,  we  poor  beggars  are  set  up  to 
preach,  even  in  funeral  sermons  of  men  like  Opdyke, 
although  it 's  not  theology,  but  just  plain  science, 
or  the  lack  of  it,  that 's  killed  them." 

"Well?"  the  doctor  queried. 

"  Well."  Brenton  uncrossed  his  legs  and,  with  a 
sudden  snap,  crossed  them  the  other  way.  "  What  I 
want  to  know  is  this :  what  in  the  world  is  going  to 
become  of  us  fellows  who  go  on  preaching  one  thing, 
while  we  believe  another?  " 

"  According  to  the  Book  of  Revelation,  you  '11  be 
come  a  sulphate,"  the  doctor  told  him  grimly. 

Brenton  tossed  aside  his  cigar,  thrust  his  fists  into 
his  pockets  and  rose  to  pace  the  floor. 

"  Don't  joke,  doctor,"  he  said  impatiently.  "  For 
once,  I  'm  past  it,  past  its  doing  me  any  good,  I 
mean.  A  baby,  frightened  at  the  dark  and  howling 
for  its  nurse,  is  n't  going  to  be  diverted  with  a  phos 
phorescent  jumping  jack.  Now  you  see  here.  It 
is  n't  only  the  case  of  Opdyke,  though  God  knows 
that  is  a  flagrant  instance  of  exactly  what  I  mean. 
All  week  long,  I  am  coming  into  contact  with  just 
such  cases,  cases  where  the  physical  cause  and  effect 
and  the  moral  one  can't  possibly  be  stretched  until 
they  coincide.  Somebody  breaks  one  of  the  eternal 
laws,  the  laws  laid  down  in  Genesis  and  provable  in 
any  twentieth-century  laboratory.  He  gets  off  scot 
free,  and  neither  realizes  what  he  's  done,  nor  pays 


THE    BRENTONS  161 

the  penalty.  The  flying  pieces,  though,  fall  on  some 
other  man  who  is  trudging  along  the  trail  of  another 
law  and  keeping  it  at  every  point.  He  gets  killed, 
or  worse;  and  the  first  man  never  knows  what  he 
has  accomplished.  That  sort  of  thing  is  happening 
all  the  time,  somewhere  or  other.  As  a  rule,  too,  the 
victim  is  a  long  way  a  better  man  than  the  original 
sinner  who  brought  the  ruin  on  him.  Week  days,  we 
go  to  see  him  and,  so  far  as  our  priestly  vocabularies 
will  allow,  we  help  him  to  swear  at  the  fate  that 
has  bowled  him  over.  Nevertheless,  on  Sunday  morn 
ing,  we  haul  out  our  sanctity  and  our  surplices,  put 
them  both  on,  and  hold  forth  about  Fatherly  correc 
tion  and  a  lot  of  other  things  that,  in  our  heart  of 
hearts,  we  don't  believe." 

"  Don't  you?  "  the  doctor  asked  him  suddenly,  after 
a  short  pause. 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Don't  you,  as  a  priest,  believe,  for  instance,  that 
this  whole  trouble  was  sent  to  Opdyke  for  his  better 
ment?  " 

Brenton  halted  in  his  walk,  and  gazed  down  at  the 
doctor  fearlessly. 

"  I  do  not,"  he  said. 

"  You  profess  to,"  the  doctor  reminded  him,  with 
scant  mercy. 

Brenton's  lips  stiffened. 

"  Exactly.  There  is  the  trouble.  I  also  profess, 
two  or  three  times  each  Sunday,  that  I  believe  in  the 
resurrection  of  the  body.  Nevertheless,  any  such 
belief  is  impossible  for  a  man  who  has  ever  seen  the 
equipment  of  a  modern  laboratory.  As  for  Opdyke's 
case,  why  is  it  any  more  for  his  betterment  than  it 's 


162  THE    BRENTONS 

for  the  betterment  of  the  little  baby  whose  nurse  ac 
cidentally  gives  it  strychnine  instead  of  squills  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  archaic,  Brenton,"  the  doctor  bade  him. 
"  One  does  n't  give  squills  nowadays.  However  —  " 

Brenton  flung  up  his  head  impatiently.  The 
doctor  liked  the  gesture,  liked  the  little  angry  glint 
in  the  gray  eyes. 

"  You  mean  then,"  he  persisted  slowly,  and 
Brenton,  listening,  was  aware  that  he  was  talking 
as  one  man  to  another,  not  as  the  senior  warden 
of  Saint  Peter's  to  its  rector ;  "  that  you  are  saying 
things  on  Sunday  that  you  're  denying,  all  the  week?" 

Brenton  nodded  curtly. 

"  That 's  about  the  size  of  it." 

Well  as  he  had  come  to  know  the  doctor,  the  next 
query  took  him  by  surprise. 

"  What  have  you  been  eating?  "  Doctor  Keltridge 
demanded  briefly. 

"  Eating !  "  Scott  Brenton's  voice  was  as  blank 
as  were  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  eating,"  the  doctor  iterated.  "  Doubts  are 
generally  more  or  less  digestive  in  their  origin. 
Caviar  would  have  made  a  total  agnostic  of  Saint 
John  himself,  and  Saint  Luke  would  have  been  the 
first  one  to  tell  him  so,  and  order  a  blue  pill."  As 
he  spoke,  he  gazed  at  Brenton  critically.  "  You  're 
running  down,  man,  for  a  fact.  Is  this  thing  worry 
ing  you?  "  he  asked  kindly. 

"Well,  yes,  a  little,"  Brenton  confessed.  "It's 
bound  to,  doctor.  I  'm  not  agnostic  in  the  least ;  I 
believe  that  any  creed  has  got  to  be  interpreted  with 
more  than  a  grain  of  salt,  according  to  one's  especial 
nature  and  its  secretions.  However,  it 's  beginning  to 


THE    BRENTONS  163 

go  against  my  ideas  to  discover  that  there 's  more 
salt  than  belief  within  me  when  I  get  up  to  recite  my 
Credo." 

The  doctor  laughed,  in  comfortable  comprehension. 

"  It  depends  a  little  on  how  your  salt  analyzes  out, 
Brenton.  It  may  be  much  more  harmless  than  you 
think,  just  a  normal  precipitate  and  not  a  deadly 
poison.  However,"  and  the  doctor's  face  twinkled 
with  humorous  sympathy;  "it's  just  about  as  well 
to  keep  it  in  solution  for  the  present.  Therefore, 
both  as  your  medical  adviser  and  as  your  senior 
warden,  I  'm  going  to  give  you  a  tonic  to  that  end. 
Moreover,  I  want  you  to  eat  lots  of  underdone  beef, 
to  drink  lots  of  good  beer,  and  spend  a  good  half 
your  time  out-doors.  Then,  if  the  doubts  hang  on, 
come  back  to  me  and  I  '11  take  another  whack  at  them. 
They  're  harmless  enough  now,  like  most  germs  in 
their  early  stages  of  development ;  but  nobody  knows 
what  they  may  turn  into,  if  we  let  them  go  on  work 
ing.  Now  come  along  into  the  laboratory  and  watch 
my  latest  bacillus  increase  and  multiply.  It  beats 
the  sons  of  Adam  into  a  cocked  hat ;  and  it  has  more 
horns  than  all  of  your  damned  doubtings  put 
together."  On  the  threshold  of  the  laboratory,  how 
ever,  the  old  doctor  paused.  His  accent,  when  he 
spoke,  was  absolutely  reverent,  despite  his  words. 
"  Brenton,  you  all  of  you  admit,  whether  you  believe 
in  eternal  law  or  in  special  creation,  that  God  made 
man  in  His  own  image.  Then,  granted  a  proper 
ancestry  for  every  germ,  there  must  have  been  some 
place  for  doubtings,  even  in  the  original  and  immortal 
Pattern.  If  that 's  the  case,  why  should  we  all  of  us 
set  ourselves  up  to  confound  them  utterly?  They 


164  THE    BRENTONS 

must  have  some  worthy  purpose;  else  they  never 
would  have  survived." 

Side  by  side,  the  two  men  hung  over  the  bacillus 
and  forgot  the  doubtings.  Later,  when  Brenton  went 
away,  he  took  with  him  the  prescription  for  the  tonic 
and  gave  the  doctor  his  solemn  word  of  honour  that 
he  would  straightway  telephone  for  beef  and  beer. 
He  kept  his  word  so  well,  and  so  clever  had  been  the 
doctor's  diagnosis  that  Reed  Opdyke,  flat  on  his  back 
through  all  the  torrid  heat  of  summer,  felt  moved 
to  express  his  envious  approbation. 

"  Hang  it  all,  Brenton,  what  are  you  doing  to 
yourself,  these  latter  days?  "  he  demanded,  one  morn 
ing  after  the  four  walls  of  his  prison  room  had 
seemed  closing  in  upon  him  and  smothering  him, 
during  all  the  sultry  night.  "  You  look  as  fit  as  a 
fighting  cock,  when  all  the  rest  of  us  are  grilly  worms. 
How  do  you  manage  it?  Whatever  the  state  of 
your  spiritual  graces,  at  least  you  're  growing  in 
purely  fleshly  ones." 

Brenton  laughed  at  the  accent  of  the  compliment 
which  unmistakably  was  begrudged.  Nevertheless, 
the  laugh  stopped  short  at  his  lips,  and  his  gray 
eyes  were  sober  as  they  looked  down  upon  his  friend. 
The  "  puffic'  fibbous  "  was  distinctly  worse  for  wear, 
that  morning.  His  eyes  were  heavy,  and  his  wavy 
hair  clung  limply  about  the  temples  where  the  hol 
lows  were  showing  more  and  more  clearly  with  every 
passing  day.  He  was  growing  whiter,  too,  with  the 
uncanny  waxiness  of  a  surface  lighted  from  within. 
The  absolute  confinement  and  the  pitiless  heats  of 
summer  were  telling  on  the  "  puffic'  fibbous  ",  re 
ducing  him  to  the  merest  shell  of  his  old-time  self, 


THE    BRENTONS  165 

and  yet  the  shell  was  by  no  means  hollow.  Within  it 
still  lurked  the  old  magnetic  Reed,  plucky,  indom 
itable. 

"  You  're  positively  waxing  fat,  you  healthy  beg 
gar,"  he  went  on,  before  Brenton  could  speak ;  "  and 
Keltridge  had  the  nerve  to  tell  me  he  had  been  giving 
you  a  tonic.  What  went  wrong?  Digestion,  the 
scourge  of  parsons?  Or  were  you  pining  for  your 
customary  adulation,  denied  you  now  those  college 
girls  have  gone  off  for  the  summer?  "  The  lazy 
voice  was  full  of  contentment  in  its  own  mockery. 
To  hear  Reed  speaking,  one  would  have  been  sure 
that  the  world  was  all  before  him,  waiting  at  his  idle 
feet. 

Brenton's  answer  echoed  the  selfsame  note. 

"  Adulation,  Opdyke !  I  'm  a  hard-worked  clergy 
man,  and  target  for  more  criticism  than  you  en 
gineers  have  ever  dreamed  of." 

"  Much  you  are !  But  do  sit  down.  You  make  me 
want  to  get  up,  too,  when  you  rage  around  like  that. 
No ;  not  that  stuffed  chair.  It 's  too  hot.  Try  that 
cane  thing,  and,  while  you  're  about  it,  there 's  a 
siphon  in  that  ice  chest  over  there.  So  far  as  I  've 
discovered,  that 's  the  one  decent  thing  about  being 
knocked  out  in  summer ;  they  're  in  honour  bound 
to  have  an  iced  supply-place  handy.  But,  about  the 
adulation,  I  know  whereof  I  speak.  The  average 
college  girl  has  n't  a  softly  wooing  voice,  and  I 
have  n't  spent  my  time  lurking  here  invisible  for  noth 
ing.  The  little  dears  have  favoured  me  with  their 
views  of  most  things  and  all  men,  myself  included. 
It  has  been  done  quite  unconsciously;  I  know  that 
because  of  the  flavour  of  some  of  their  remarks  as 


166  THE    BRENTONS 

concerned  myself."  And,  contrary  to  his  custom, 
Reed  laughed  bitterly.  "  As  for  you,  Brenton,  I 
wonder  you  're  not  as  bad  as  Baalam's  ass.  If  they 
could  have  their  way,  they  would  strip  you  of  your 
clerical  broadcloth  and  robe  you  in  a  full  suit  of 
angelic  eider  down.  Still,  you  need  n't  look  smug, 
while  you  deny  it ;  it 's  nothing  to  be  proud  about. 
It 's  not  your  preaching  docs  it,  man ;  it 's  chiefly  on 
account  of  your  voice,  and  the  way  your  hair  sprouts 
from  your  scalp.  For  pure  purposes  of  religion,  a 
hairy  baritone  is  a  long  way  more  potent  than  a  bald 
and  quavering  tenor;  at  least,  so  far  as  the  youthful 
student  is  concerned.  But  what 's  the  tonic?  " 

Obediently  Brenton  had  dropped  down  into  the 
chair,  the  cane  thing.  First,  though,  he  had  de 
posited  his  hat  and  stick  upon  the  nearest  table 
and  hunted  out  the  siphon,  as  Opdyke  had  sug 
gested.  Then,  — 

"  The  doctor  says  it 's  for  my  spiritual  doubtings," 
he  answered.  "  Myself,  I  more  than  half  suspect  it 's 
for  my  sense  of  humour." 

"  Hm !  "  Opdyke  commented  crisply.  "  They  're 
only  husband  and  wife  —  after  the  divorce.  What 's 
the  row?  " 

The  answer  came  only  in  a  little  sigh,  curiously  like 
a  groan. 

Reed  half  closed  his  eyes,  and  peered  up  at  Brenton 
through  the  crack. 

"  Mental  growing  pains  ?  "  he  queried.  "  Too  bad, 
old  man.  I  thought  you  had  passed  that  epoch;  it 
generally  comes  with  the  cutting  of  one's  wisdom 
teeth.  Anyhow,  we  all  go  through  it  sooner  or  later." 

"  Sometimes  both,"  Brenton  answered  restlessly. 


THE    BRENTONS  167 

Reed's  eyes  opened,  with  a  snap. 

"  You  've  been  through  it  once  before?  Of  course. 
I  remember  now;  you  started  as  an  ultra-Calvinist, 
and  came  over  with  a  flop.  Whittenden  of  Saint 
Luke's  told  me.  He  always  claimed  he  was  the  man 
who  did  the  deed." 

"You  knew  Whittenden?"  For  the  moment, 
Brenton  forgot  all  other  matters  in  the  question. 

"  Rather !  And  it 's  not  the  sort  of  privilege  one 
is  likely  to  forget.  He  is  *  the  whole  state  of  Christ's 
Church  Militant '  in  his  own  stubby,  curly-headed 
little  person."  Reed's  voice  grew  resonant  with  every 
syllable. 

"  I  know."  Brenton  nodded.  "  Where  did  you 
run  across  him?  " 

"  In  Colorado.  A  cousin  of  his  had  lungs,  and 
Whittenden  put  in  his  whole  vacation,  two  years  ago, 
helping  the  man  keep  from  being  too  badly  bored. 
We  had  an  accident ;  a  cage  fell  and  smashed  a  dozen 
miners.  Every  single  man  of  them  was  at  the  end  of 
things,  and  they  were  Catholics.  Most  of  them 
could  n't  speak  ten  words  of  English.  The  nearest 
priest  was  across  the  divide,  ten  miles  away,  and  the 
poor  beggars  had  n't  ten  minutes  to  wait.  They 
knew  that,  according  to  their  religion,  it  meant 
eternal  hell  for  them.  Whittenden  heard  about  it, 
and  came  running,  book  in  one  hand,  surplice  in  the 
other.  The  way  he  made  that  service  for  the  dying 
hum  was  a  caution ;  but  he  got  it  done  in  time,  before 
the  first  man  died."  Reed's  face  was  growing  scarlet 
with  the  excitement  of  the  memory.  "  It  was  Protes 
tant,  of  course ;  but  they  did  n't  know  English 
enough  to  find  it  out,  and  they  died  happy  in  the 


168  THE    BRENTONS 

certainty  that  he  'd  saved  them.  Then  he  yanked  off 
his  surplice  as  fast  as  he  'd  yanked  it  on,  and  went 
to  work  to  help  us  lay  them  out  decently,  before  their 
wives  and  children  saw  them.  I  tell  you  what, 
Brenton  —  "  Lost  to  the  present  in  the  old,  exciting 
memory,  Reed  forgot  himself  and  started  up.  "  Oh, 
damn !  "  he  said,  and  fainted  quietly  away,  cut  out 
of  consciousness  of  agony  unspeakable. 

An  hour  afterward,  Brenton  left  Reed  compara 
tively  comfortable,  and  went  his  way.  Like  most 
men  in  such  an  emergency,  he  had  been  thoroughly 
terrified.  The  reaction  from  his  terror  left  him 
thoughtful,  even  a  little  morbid.  The  fact  of  his 
manifest  uselessness  in  the  eyes  of  Reed's  trained 
nurse  led  him  to  doubt  his  usefulness  in  the  more 
legitimate  fields  of  his  own  profession.  For  the  rest, 
his  friends  were  all  of  a  piece.  Opdyke  and  Whit- 
tenden  alike  had  risen  to  the  emergency  with  which 
fate  had  confronted  them,  had  done  their  downright, 
obvious  duty,  regardless  of  any  consequences  beyond 
the  simple  one  of  fulfilling  the  immediate  need.  They 
were  men  of  action  and  sincerity,  men  who  really 
counted  to  the  world.  He  — 

He  smiled  bitterly.  Reed  Opdyke's  chaff,  meant 
in  all  good  nature,  had  struck  home  to  the  very 
marrow  of  his  self-distrust.  He  had  clambered  to  a 
pedestal  where  he  stood  and  preached  banal  things 
which,  in  reality,  he  doubted,  and  smiled  at  his  con 
gregation,  and  sniffed  contentedly  at  the  fumes  of 
incense  rising  about  him,  incense  of  which  he  was  but 
too  well  aware.  He  would  have  had  no  idea  how  to 
stop  it;  but,  if  the  truth  were  told,  he  had  had  no 
especial  wish  to  stop  it,  if  he  could.  It  had  been  a 


THE    BRENTONS  169 

pleasant  experience,  this  knowing  himself  the  idol  of 
a  steadily  increasing  share  of  his  congregation.  He 
had  known  it,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  he  had  done  his 
best  to  convince  himself  that  it  came  from  the  quality 
of  the  gospel  which  he  preached,  from  the  sincerity 
and  fire  with  which  he  preached  it. 

Now,  all  at  once,  denying  nothing  of  the  popu 
larity,  the  adulation,  as  Opdyke  had  called  it,  he 
forced  himself  to  deny  his  former  theory  of  its  cause. 
It  was  as  Reed  had  said.  Indeed,  it  had  been  a  con 
stant  marvel  to  Brenton,  all  those  summer  months, 
how  much  more  clearly  Reed,  flat  on  his  back  inside 
four  walls,  did  see  things  than  the  rest  of  them.  Reed 
had  told  a  truth  as  undeniable  as  it  was  unpalatable : 
that  all  of  Brenton's  adulation  came,  not  from  his 
priestly  fervour,  but  from  such  personal  details  as 
eyes  and  hair  and  vibrant  vocal  cords.  As  for  sin 
cerity  —  Had  he  ever  been  sincere,  in  any  of  his 
preaching?  Had  any  word  of  his,  measured  by  the 
simple  tenets  of  his  creed,  ever  in  reality  rung  true? 
Could  he  ever,  knowing  of  a  surety  what  he  did,  ever 
attain  sincerity,  so  long  as  he  remained  the  priest? 
He  doubted. 

This  time,  his  doubts  took  hold  of  him.  Indeed, 
it  is  a  far  more  unsettling  process  to  doubt  one's  self 
than  it  is  to  doubt  the  ultimate  truths  of  a  wholly 
impersonal  system  of  salvation.  For  the  next  few 
weeks,  Brenton  shunned  his  fellow  men  almost  com 
pletely,  while  he  took  his  doubtings  far  afield  and 
wrestled  with  them  there.  Moreover,  despite  the 
doctor's  tonic  and  the  ozone  of  the  autumn-tinctured 
air,  Brenton  came  in  from  tramping  over  the  moun 
tains,  or  up  and  down  the  valley,  weary  in  mind,  dis- 


170  THE    BRENTONS 

tressed  in  soul.  He  yearned  acutely,  in  these  weeks, 
for  contact  with  his  kind:  for  Professor  Opdyke  and 
the  sturdy  doctor,  for  Reed,  for  Olive  whose  clear 
eyes  always  saw  the  soul  beneath  the  aura.  Neverthe 
less,  he  kept  away  from  them  all  absolutely.  This  was 
a  matter  he  must  settle  with  himself  alone,  a  battle  to 
be  fought  out  in  silence  and  with  himself  as  sole 
antagonist.  A  ring  of  commenting  spectators,  ap 
plauding  while  they  looked  on,  could  only  blunt  the 
point  of  his  attacks  which,  to  be  final,  must  be  swift 
and  sure. 

It  was  a  curious  commentary  upon  Scott  Brenton's 
domestic  life  that,  shrinking  as  he  did  from  contact 
with  his  kind,  he  yet  felt  no  wish  to  withdraw  himself 
from  Kathryn.  The  statement  of  the  fact  contains 
its  explanation.  Kathryn  was  his  wedded  wife;  he 
loved  her.  Nevertheless,  she  was  not  of  his  kind, 
nor  ever  had  been.  Such  crises  as  his  present  one 
would  have  been  incomprehensible  to  her.  There 
fore,  Scott  faced  it,  with  Kathyrn  at  his  side. 

Now  and  then,  though,  over  their  morning  coffee, 
Scott  had  a  wayward  longing  to  open  the  day's  arena 
to  her,  to  force  her  to  look  in  upon  the  fight  he  waged. 
Then  he  gave  up  the  idea  disdainfully.  As  well  try 
to  leave  his  hand-print  on  an  iron  bar  or  a  gray 
granite  slab  as  to  seek  to  impress  on  Kathryn's  mind 
the  vital  nature  of  the  questions  that  were  haunting 
him,  taunting  him,  turning  his  life  into  a  purgatory 
of  uncertainties  whether  his  choice  of  profession  had 
been  aught  but  a  selfish  wish  for  an  easy  and  spec 
tacular  road  to  social  eminence. 

Just  once,  he  thought  he  had  impressed  her. 

Throughout  this  time,  Brenton's  sermons  were  pre- 


THE    BRENTONS  171 

pared  with  a  fury  of  devotion  to  which,  of  old,  they 
had  been  strangers.  As  the  autumn  waxed  and  waned 
to  winter,  and  the  holy  Advent  season  came  to  hand, 
he  cast  his  doubts  aside  and  sought  to  bury  them  be 
neath  the  glorious  gospel  of  the  Advent  song:  Peace 
to  Men  of  Good  Will.  Indeed,  there  came  one  Sunday 
morning  when  the  message  of  good  will  downed  all 
the  other  voices,  doubts,  hopes,  or  fears,  downed 
them  beneath  its  brave  promises  of  inheritance  for 
him  who  lives  according  to  its  simple  law. 

Brenton,  afire  with  his  message,  self-forgetful, 
thrilling  with  the  greatness  of  his  theme,  felt  his  con 
gregation  taking  fire  beneath  him.  For  the  hour,  at 
least,  there  could  be  no  question  of  his  sincerity,  of 
his  belief  in  the  gospel  he  was  preaching,  a  simple 
gospel  of  generosity  and  love  and  of  hard,  ungrudg 
ing  work  for  universal  betterment.  Into  his  last 
sentences,  careless  of  self,  he  flung  the  outpourings 
of  his  very  soul,  and  the  quick  sentences  fell,  one, 
and  one,  and  one,  into  the  hush  made  out  of  many 
minds  sharing  a  common  mood.  Brenton  felt  it,  and 
gave  thanks.  Here  and  now  was  his  vindication, 
here  at  last  the  proof  that  he  had  not  chosen  his 
calling  meanly,  nor  in  all  selfishness. 

One  after  another,  then,  his  congregation  yielded 
to  his  sway.  Last  of  them  all  to  yield  was  Kathyrn, 
sitting  in  a  front  pew  and,  after  her  custom,  smiling 
up  at  him  in  an  admiration  which  he  had  come  to 
find  galling  in  its  emptiness  of  any  meaning.  But, 
at  the  last  passionately  fervent  words,  her  blank 
smile  faded  and,  for  the  first  time  in  all  his  preach 
ing,  her  face  became  overcast,  intent.  His  sermon 
ended,  Brenton  bowed  his  head  in  a  benediction  which, 


172  THE    BREXTONS 

in  his  heart,  he  sent  most  earnestly  upon  his  wife. 
Perchance  the  selfsame  hour  that  saw  his  self-vindi 
cation  should  also  see  the  rending  of  the  veil  of  non- 
comprehension  which  had  fallen  down  between  the 
two  of  them. 

The  luncheon  hour,  however,  brought  with  it  disil 
lusion.  Over  the  luncheon,  Kathyrn  spoke. 

"  Scott,"  she  asked  her  husband ;  "  did  you  see  me 
frowning  at  you,  this  morning,  just  as  you  were  finish- 

ing?" 

He  looked  up  from  his  plate,  the  light  of  happiness 
already  dimming  a  little  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  saw  —  He  hesitated.  Then  he  said  quite 

simply,  "  Yes." 

"Did  you  know  why?"  Kathyrn  took  another 
olive,  as  she  spoke. 

In  total  silence,  he  shook  his  head. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  while  Kathyrn's  teeth  met 
in  the  soft  ripe  olive.  Then,  — 

"  Well,  it  was  this :  that  final  gesture  of  yours 
is  awfully  effective.  You  know  the  one  I  mean,  your 
hands  shut  on  your  stole  just  at  your  shoulders?  I 
hate  to  have  you  give  it  up ;  but,  really,  I  'm  afraid 
you  '11  have  to.  In  the  long  run,  it  is  bound  to  get 
your  stoles  shabby,  especially  the  white  one;  and, 
now  I  have  all  the  —  the  little  things  to  make,  I 
can't  keep  embroidering  new  stoles.  After  this, 
when  you  see  me  making  up  the  face  I  put  on,  this 
morning,  you  '11  please  remember  it  must  be  '  hands 
down  '.  Another  olive?  Take  them  away  then, 
Mary." 

That  same  afternoon,  Reed  Opdyke  was  astounded 
to  receive  a  long  call  from  his  recreant  parson. 


CHAPTER    FIFTEEN 

"  WHERE  away  ?  " 

With  the  question,  Dolph  Dcnnison  flung  himself 
into  step  at  Olive  Keltridge's  side,  one  morning  in 
late  January.  Two  inches  of  snow  crackling  under 
foot  and  a  coating  of  hoarfrost  on  all  the  elm  trees 
was  answering  as  a  fair  substitute  for  winter;  and 
the  blood  of  both  young  people  was  tingling  with 
even  that  unwonted  sting.  Nevertheless,  though 
walking  briskly,  Olive  had  been  lost  in  a  brown  study, 
and  she  started,  as  Dolph's  genial  hail  fell  on  her 
ears.  Then  she  nodded  gayly. 

"Ditto.  Why  aren't  you  in  class?"  she  de 
manded. 

"  It 's  low-minded  to  be  eternally  talking  shop," 
he  told  her.  "  Why  can't  you  for  once  let  me  delude 
myself  into  the  belief  that  I  'm  like  a  lily  of  the  field, 
without  a  spinning  wheel  in  sight?  " 

"  A  lily  in  a  fur-lined  coat !  "  Olive's  accent  was 
disdainful.  "  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  be  rolled 
up  like  this,  this  splendid  morning." 

Dolph  eyed  her  seal  jacket  accusingly. 

"  I  am,"  he  confessed.  "  I  'm  immensely  proud  of 
my  fur  lining,  and  I  hate  like  thunder  to  go  out,  but 
toned  up.  One  might  as  well  be  lined  with  quilted 
farmer  satin,  with  an  imitation-mink  shawl  collar, 


174  THE    BRENTONS 

for  all  the  glory  he  gets  out  of  winter.  That  's  where 
you  women  score;  you  wear  your  wool  outside." 

"  Yes  ;  but  we  don't  turn  up  our  collars,  a  day 
like  this,"  Olive  mocked  him.  "  Really,  Dolph,  you  're 
growing  soft.  But  you  have  n't  answered  my  ques 
tion.  Why  are  n't  you  at  a  class  ?  " 

"  You  're  so  beastly  insistent,  Olive.  What  's  the 
use?  If  you  must  know,  I  've  given  the  dear  children 
a  cut,  this  morning.  One  of  them  came  prowling  into 
class,  all  broken  out  with  mumps  ;  that  is,  if  you  can 
call  it  broken  out,  when  there  is  only  one  of  it  and  as 
large  as  a  camuel's  hump.  Anyhow,  I  freely  offered 
them  a  cut,  and  advised  them  all  to  go  to  their  homes 
and  to  disinfect  themselves  with  due  discretion." 

"  And  you  ?  "  Olive  inquired. 

"Me?  I'm  immune.  I  haven't  cheek  enough  to 
begin  to  swell  up  like  that.  Accordingly,  I  am  merely 
taking  a  walk,  while  I  cultivate  my  muse." 

"  And  I  'm  to  be  the  muse's  understudy  ?  "  Olive 
laughed.  "  Thank  you,  I  'm  otherwise  engaged." 

"  You  looked  it,  when  I  met  you.    What  's  doing?  " 

"  Household  economics.  I  'm  going  the  rounds  of 
the  basement  bargain  counters,  hunting  dish  towel- 


"What's  the  use?" 

"To  dry  the  dishes,"  Olive  told  him  literally. 
"  One  does  n't  want  to  eat  things  in  a  puddle." 

Dolph  stuck  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  coat. 
Then  he  turned  to  face  her  rebukefully. 

"  What  a  concrete  mind  you  do  have,  Olive  !  I  wish 
you  'd  come  into  my  classes  ;  I  'd  teach  you  how  to 
generalize,  and  give  you  some  much-needed  lessons  in 
beauty  of  diction.  You  mean  well  ;  but  you  certainly 


THE    BRENTONS  175 

do  talk  like  a  housemaid,  and  —  Good  morning,  Mr. 
Brenton.  Jolly  sort  of  morning,  too  !  "  Then  Dolph 
digressed.  "  What  in  thunder  is  the  matter  with  that 
fellow,  Olive?" 

"  Matter?  "  Olive  tried  her  best  to  look  surprised 
at  the  question. 

"  No  use  shamming.  You  are  perfectly  aware  that 
something  has  gone  wrong  with  the  dominie,  and  he  's 
on  his  nerves,"  Dolph  told  her  coolly.  "  Besides,  why 
should  you  be  denying  it?  One  only  tells  fibs  about 
one's  own  responsibilities,  and  you  are  n't  responsible 
for  Brenton,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "  Olive  replied,  with  hasty  piety. 
"  I  have  all  the  responsibility  I  can  endure,  with  you 
and  Reed." 

"  Best  cut  out  Opdyke,  then,  and  focus  it  all  on 
me,"  Dolph  advised  her  genially.  "  I  need  it,  and  I 
shall  repay  your  effort,  seven-fold."  Then  he 
digressed  again,  this  time  without  a  trace  of  humour. 
"  Olive,  for  a  fact,  how  is  Opdyke?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Have  n't  you  seen  him  lately?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course."  Dolph  spoke  with  some  im 
patience.  "  That  's  the  reason  I  am  asking.  I  go  in 
there,  as  often  as  I  can  spend  the  time  and  stand  the 
strain." 

Olive  edged  a  trifle  nearer  to  the  fur-lined  elbow. 

"You  feel  it,  too,  Dolph?" 

"  Good  Lord,  yes !  How  could  anybody  help  it, 
anybody  with  a  nerve  in  his  composition?  It  takes 
it  out  of  one  tremendously,  Olive,"  Dolph  frowned 
intently ;  "  and  it  's  a  curious  fact  that  it  takes  it 
out  of  me  worse  on  his  good  days  than  on  his  bad 
ones." 


176  THE    BRENTONS 

Olive  glanced  up  sharply. 

"  I  did  n't  know  he  had  any  bad  ones ;  at  least,  not 
to  show  them  out." 

Dolph  shook  his  head  at  the  street  in  general. 

"  That 's  the  woman  of  you,  Olive ;  the  woman  in 
you,  I  mean.  Opdyke  is  morally  bound  to  hold  it  all 
in,  when  you  're  in  sight  and  hearing.  No  man  that 's 
half  a  man  will  squeak  before  a  woman,  and  Opdyke's 
all  man,  fast  enough.  Yes,  poor  devil,  he  does  have 
his  bad  days,  like  all  the  rest  of  us.  However,  the 
rest  of  us  can  arise  and  lick  somebody,  if  the  spirit 
moves  us ;  and  poor  old  Opdyke  has  to  lie  still  and 
take  it  out  in  swearing.  He  does  swear,  too;  and 
now  and  then  his  temper  is  positively  vitriolic." 

"  Reed's  ?  "  Olive's  voice  betrayed  indignation,  in 
credulity. 

"  Rather."  Dolph  laughed.  "  On  one  or  two  oc 
casions,  it  has  risen  to  that  level."  Then  he  sobered. 
"  Don't  begrudge  him  the  relief  of  it,  Olive.  It 's  his 
one  salvation,  his  one  road  of  escape  from  something 
that  easily  might  be  madness.  Have  you  thought 
about  the  change  it 's  made  for  him?  " 

"  Dolph !  Do  any  of  us  ever  think  of  anything 
else?" 

For  an  instant,  he  eyed  her  keenly,  apparently 
seeking  to  discover  what  underlay  her  words. 
Then,  - 

"  Not  when  we  are  with  him,  I  fancy,"  he  assented. 
"  And,  of  course,  I  never  knew  him  much  till  now, 
so  even  I  can't  take  it  all  in,  the  way  you  do.  Still, 
I  can  imagine  it  a  little,  imagine  what  it  must  be, 
to  an  out-door  man  like  him,  to  be  shut  up  in  that 
one  room,  packed  in  with  all  the  frilly  duds  Mrs. 


THE    BREXTONS  177 

Opdyke  has  stuffed  in  around  him.  Really,  I  'd  feel 
exactly  like  a  mutton  chop  in  a  tissue-paper  flounce, 
myself.  The  frills  add  to  the  ignominy.  Why  can't 
she  let  him  have  the  good  of  all  the  bare,  empty 
space  he  can  get,  even  if  it  is  n't  much?  " 

Olive  interrupted. 

"  Dolph,  you  're  not  the  dunce  you  might  be. 
That 's  a  good  idea." 

He  nodded. 

"  It 's  common  sense.  Fancy,  Olive,  if  you  were 
laid  low,  which  heaven  forfend,  and  had  to  live 
mainly  on  the  fruits  of  your  imagination,  would  n't 
you  grow  more  of  those  fruits  on  a  bit  of  blank, 
sunny  wall  than  on  a  perfect  trellis  work  of  messy 
little  pictures  and  ruffled  lace  and  calico  hangings? 
It 's  worth  your  while  to  think  it  over,  and  then  to 
summon  Mrs.  Opdyke  to  think  it  over  with  you.  We 
men  want  space,  not  gimcracks.  But,  about  his 
temper,  do  be  discreet  and  forget  that  I  told  tales. 
I  supposed  of  course  you  knew  it,  knew  it  was  bound 
to  come  out  now  and  then.  He  's  got  to  have  some 
sort  of  escape  valve;  now  all  the  more,  since  your 
father  has  shut  down  upon  his  smoking.  Really, 
Olive,  that  was  beastly  mean  of  him,  I  must  say." 
Dolph  turned  on  her  accusingly. 

"  I  did  n't  know  he  had.  Reed  always  has  smoked, 
I  know." 

"  It  was  only  day  before  yesterday.  I  suppose 
you  'd  set  him  down  a  baby,  if  I  hinted  that  the 
water  came  into  his  eyes,  while  he  was  telling  me. 
Olive,"  Dolph  flung  out  the  question  with  a  certain 
desperation;  "for  God's  sake,  how  long  has  this 
thing  got  to  go  on?" 


178  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Dolph,  I  don't  know." 

"  Does  n't  your  father  ever  say  things  ?  " 

"  Not  of  that  sort.  He  never  does.  Besides,  see 
ing  Reed,  as  I  do,  almost  every  day,  it 's  better  that 
I  should  n't  know." 

"  But  you  must  think,"  he  urged.  "  Really,  Olive, 
the  thing  is  going  on  all  our  nerves ;  anyhow,  on 
mine.  I  can't  see  that  great,  strong  fellow  lie  there, 
all  these  eight  months,  and  keep  steady  as  he  does, 
and  come  to  know  him  as  I  'm  doing,  know  he  has 
been,  and  is,  more  of  a  man  than  most  of  us  are 
ever  likely  to  be:  I  can't  watch  him,  I  tell  you,  and 
keep  my  grip  on  my  sense  of  humour.  I  like  Opdyke 
better  than  I  like  most  men ;  I  'd  miss  him  more  than 
most.  Still,  Olive,"  and  the  face  above  the  fur-lined 
coat  was  suddenly  grown  grim ;  "  watching  him  as 
I  do,  I  can't  help  feeling  that  it  would  have  been  a 
mercy,  if  only  he  had  been  killed  outright." 

"  Hush ! "  Olive  turned  upon  him  sternly ; 
sternly  she  spoke.  "  That 's  not  for  us  to  say, 
Dolph.  There  's  a  plan  back  of  things,  you  know, 
and  Reed  is  only  part  of  the  plan." 

There  came  a  short  silence.  Then  Dolph  spoke, 
not  angrily,  yet  with  decision. 

"  Olive,  I  think  I  am  just  a  little  bit  ashamed  of 
you  for  that.  I  'm  willing  to  be  a  fatalist,  and  say 
it  was  ordained  from  the  beginning  that  Opdyke 
must  be  flayed  and  hung  up  for  the  crows  of  time 
to  pick ;  but  as  for  saying  in  a  hushed  voice  that  he 
is  the  especial  object  of  some  wholly  beneficent  and 
divine  plan,  I  can't  do  it,  and  I  won't.  A  thing 
like  that  would  be  enough  to  leave  a  trail  of  beast 
liness  over  the  whole  mass  of  revealed  religion;  in 


THE    BRENTONS  179 

the  end  it  would  turn  one  to  a  veritable  pagan.  Is 
this  the  entrance  to  your  bargain  counter?  Good 
bye,  then.  And,  for  heaven's  sake,  remember  that 
sometimes  the  personal  hurt  of  a  thing  may  blind 
a  man  to  the  ultimate  and  underlying  beneficence  of 
the  plan  that  knocked  him  over.  Watch  Opdyke, 
not  when  he  is  swearing  picturesquely,  but  when  his 
mouth  shuts  and  gets  white  around  the  corners  with 
the  mental  pain,  not  the  physical;  and  then  you  will 
take  in  what  I  mean."  And  Dolph,  his  face  un 
commonly  grave  and  overcast,  nodded  shortly  and 
went  on  his  way,  his  fists  stuffed  into  his  pockets 
and  his  grim  face  half  buried  in  his  cavernous  collar. 

And,  meanwhile,  the  poor  "  puffic'  fibbous  "  lay 
and  fidgetted  uneasily,  while  he  wondered  why  Olive 
Keltridge  had  chosen  that  day,  of  all  days,  to  delay 
her  customary  call.  She  was  not  ill.  Ramsdell,  his 
nurse,  had  seen  her  pass  the  house,  that  morning, 
walking  with  the  swift,  alert  step  which  Opdyke  knew 
so  well,  the  step  that,  in  the  old  days,  had  accom 
panied  his  boyish  explorations  of  every  by-path  in 
the  region.  No ;  something  had  detained  her.  She 
would  surely  be  in  later ;  and  Reed  strained  his  ears, 
hour  after  hour,  to  listen  for  the  buzz  of  the  front 
door  bell. 

At  last  it  buzzed,  and  the  long  form  relaxed  its 
stiffening.  Half  past  five !  That  meant  the  shortest 
possible  time  for  talk.  Still,  it  would  be  better  than 
nothing;  the  half-loaf  would  keep  him  from  going 
hungry  to  bed.  His  eyes  were  eager,  as  he  watched 
the  door.  Then  the  eagerness  went  out  of  them. 
The  door  swung  open.  Not  Olive,  but  Prather,  the 
fussy  little  novelist,  came  in.  Opdyke's  lean  fingers 


180  THE    BREXTONS 

shut  savagely  upon  the  rug  that  covered  him.  It 
would  have  been  a  relief  if  he  could  have  torn  it 
into  tatters. 

Later,  that  night,  after  Ramsdell  had  shunted  him 
back  into  bed,  and  had  covered  him  up  as  carefully 
as  one  covers  a  six-months  baby,  and  had  put  the 
room  in  order  for  the  night,  and  then  had  uttered 
his  nightly  query  if  that  was  "  really  hall,  sir,"  left 
to  himself,  Reed  Opdyke  set  out  to  become  very 
philosophical  as  concerned  his  predicament.  He 
merely  succeeded  in  becoming  very  conscious  of  his 
utter,  aching  loneliness,  the  loneliness  which  only 
comes  to  those  suddenly  deprived  of  action. 

Of  course,  he  acknowledged  to  himself,  a  man  of 
his  training  and  experience  ought  to  have  untold 
possibilities  of  interest  inherent  in  himself.  He  ought 
to  be  able  to  dip  a  bucket  into  his  brain,  and  pull 
it  up,  dripping  with  all  sorts  of  new  and  amusing 
thoughts  which  should  keep  him  brilliant  company 
for  hours  and  hours.  He  ought  to  be  able  to  lose 
the  consciousness  of  the  narrow  present  in  the  wide 
sweep  of  his  past  memories.  He  ought  to  be  able 
to  blockade  his  mind  to  any  speculations  as  con 
cerned  his  future  usefulness  by  raising  up  a  perfect 
barricade  of  past  memories,  and  then  by  sitting  down 
on  top  of  the  barricade  and  gloating  because  it  was 
a  little  higher  than  that  upbuilt  by  the  next  man. 

Moreover,  when  those  purely  personal  interests 
failed  him,  if  purely  personal  interests  did  ever  fail 
a  man,  he  had  only  to  summon  Ramsdell  and  set  him 
to  reading  aloud  to  him.  To  be  sure,  Ramsdell  had 
a  trick  of  chopping  up  his  sentences  into  separate 
words,  as  the  primary-school  child  spells  its  words 


THE    BREXTONS  181 

by  separate  letters.  Still,  if  it  destroyed  somewhat 
of  the  sense,  it  at  least  increased  the  interest,  since 
only  the  most  profound  attention  could  discover  the 
pith  of  any  paragraph,  when  every  syllable  in  that 
paragraph  was  uttered  with  the  same  deliberate 
stress. 

And  then  there  was  his  father.  To  Opdyke's  cer 
tain  knowledge,  the  good  professor  curtailed  by  hours 
and  hours  and  hours  his  more  congenial  occupations 
for  the  sake  of  helping  his  son  to  work  out  the  chess 
problems  in  which  they  both  were  taking  a  perfunc 
tory  delight.  Reed  did  unfeignedly  enjoy  his  father's 
company ;  but  that  was  no  reason  he  should  reduce 
him  to  a  captivity  akin  to  his  own.  How  long  had 
it  lasted,  anyhow?  May,  June  —  nine  months.  And, 
in  all  that  time,  Olive  never  had  missed,  until  to-day. 

Opdyke  made  a  wry  face  at  the  darkness.  So 
he  had  come  back  to  that,  after  all  the  fuss.  What 
a  kid  he  was,  despite  his  six-feet  three,  and  the  time 
he  had  gone  under  the  knife,  unwincing,  but  fully 
conscious,  because  his  heart  was  weak  just  then  and 
the  doctors  were  afraid  of  anaesthetics !  Afterwards, 
when  the  affair  was  safely  over,  they  had  said  things 
about  his  pluck.  And  now  here  he  was,  bewailing 
his  fate  because  Olive  had,  just  the  once,  failed  to 
put  in  her  appearance  for  her  daily  call.  Pluck 
be  hanged !  And  Olive  had  been  wonderfully  loyal, 
all  these  months.  Knowing  her  popularity  abroad 
and  her  busy  life  at  home,  he  could  not  fail  to  be 
aware,  when  he  stopped  to  think  about  it,  that  she 
must  have  given  up  any  amount  of  pleasanter  en 
gagements,  for  the  simple  sake  of  coming  to  see 
him. 


182  THE    BRENTONS 

What  made  her  do  it,  anyway?  Liking?  Con 
science? 

Opdyke  gritted  his  teeth.  One  accepts  liking  with 
all  due  gratitude,  however  far  it  may  be  removed 
from  any  sentiment.  It  is  a  wholly  different  thing 
to  feel  one's  self  the  object  of  a  conscientious  visi 
tation.  In  the  latter  case,  one  longs  to  throw  a 
whiskbroom  at  the  head  of  the  entering  guest,  longs 
to  have  it  hit  him,  brush  end  on.  Moreover,  it  is 
a  peculiarity  of  self-communion  in  the  watches  of 
the  night,  to  have  the  least  lovely  theory  strike  one 
as  the  more  unassailable.  Therefore,  without  delay, 
Reed  Opdyke  adopted  the  belief  in  Olive's  conscien 
tious  devotedness  to  his  welfare.  Indeed,  between 
the  pangs  where  the  points  of  his  new  theory  pricked 
him  sorely,  he  found  plenty  of  room  to  wonder  why 
the  idea  had  not  occurred  to  him  till  then.  What 
an  insufferable  ass  he  was,  to  have  been  thinking 
that  her  frequent  calls  had  been  due  to  any  other 
motive!  He  had  been  looking  upon  himself,  in  spite 
of  his  flatness,  as  being  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
her  social  equal.  Now,  without  warning,  he  was 
driven  to  relegate  himself  to  the  lower  levels  of  a 
sort  of  all-year  Lenten  penance. 

All-year !  Yes,  that  was  it.  That  was  the  secret 
of  her  failure  to  come  in,  that  day.  Or,  rather,  for 
Opdyke  was  nothing,  if  not  accurate,  the  day  before. 
It  was  to-morrow  now.  The  clock  had  struck  one, 
long  ago.  Or  was  it  half-past?  He  always  did  lose 
count,  in  those  three  successive  ones.  Anyway, 
Olive's  benevolent  zeal  had  flagged  a  little,  before 
the  demands  made  by  a  chronic  case.  Opdyke  gritted 
his  teeth  anew,  as  he  acknowledged  to  himself  that 


THE    BRENTOXS  183 

he  was  fast  becoming  desperately  chronic.  Then  his 
breath  caught  at  the  word.  The  worst  of  his  fore- 
castings  had  never  hit  on  anything  so  bad  as  that. 
And  all  the  others  knew  it ;  perhaps  they  had  known 
it  for  some  time.  That  was  the  reason,  of  course, 
that  the  number  of  his  calls  had  been  falling  off  a 
good  deal  lately ;  their  charitable  courage  had  ebbed 
and  then  ended  before  so  permanent  a  proposition. 

Olive  had  known  it,  too ;  her  father  would  have 
told  her  first  of  all.  And,  until  now,  her  loyalty  had 
still  held  good.  Dolph,  too,  would  know  it.  Indeed, 
they  all  of  them  had  known  it,  all  with  the  sole 
exception  of  himself,  the  victim.  They  had  known 
it  and  had  talked  it  over  together,  had  talked  him 
over,  him,  Reed  Opdyke,  late  consulting  engineer 
for  the  Colorado  Limited  — 

And  then,  across  the  stillness  of  the  dusky  room, 
there  came  a  sound,  husky,  strangled,  a  sound 
strangely  like  a  sob. 

Next  morning,  Opdyke  faced  the  doctor,  wan,  but 
plucky. 

"  Doctor,"  he  said ;  "  I  want  those  fellows  to  come 
up  from  New  York  again,  to  look  me  over." 

The  doctor  stared  at  him,  a  moment. 

"What's  the  use?"  he  said  then. 

Reed's  smile  was  grim. 

"  That 's  what  I  want  to  know.  It 's  time  that 
they  found  out,  if  they  're  ever  going  to." 

The  doctor's  glasses  fell  off  with  a  click,  and  then 
hung,  swinging,  from  their  thick  black  cord.  When 
their  oscillation  had  all  ended,  — 

"  What  has  started  up  your  curiosity  just  now, 
Reed?" 


184  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Signs  of  the  times,  I  suppose,"  Reed  answered 
crisply.  "  What 's  more,  doctor,  I  don't  quite  like 
them." 

Bending  forward,  the  doctor  laid  a  steady  hand 
upon  the  lean  wrist  beside  him.  As  he  had  supposed, 
the  pulse  was  leaping  with  a  furious  unsteadiness. 

"  Who  taught  a  mere  engineer  like  you  to  read 
the  signs  ?  "  he  demanded. 

The  pulse  raced  a  little  faster.  Then  Reed  re 
plied,  — 

"  My  inherent  common  sense." 

"  Your  inherent  self-conceit,  you  'd  better  say," 
the  doctor  retorted  curtly.  "  What  's  more,  you  lay 
awake  to  read  them?  Three  quarters  of  the  night? 
Yes?  I  thought  so.  Next  time,  though,  I  '11  trouble 
you  to  let  your  signs  alone.  You  've  got  to  learn 
their  alphabet  straight,  before  you  go  to  work  to 
get  much  meaning  out  of  them.  Anyway,  they  are 
my  care,  not  yours."  Then,  as  the  pulse  steadied 
down  a  little,  the  doctor  spoke  more  gently.  "  Boy, 
what  is  it  that  you  need  to  know  ?  " 

Under  the  strong,  heedful  fingers,  the  pulse  gave 
one  great  leap,  stopped,  then  fell  to  pounding  madly. 
Meanwhile,  there  came  a  tightening  of  Opdyke's 
lips.  Then  he  said,  with  a  voice  devoid  of  any 
intonation,  — 

"  Doctor,  I  think  it  has  come  to  where  I  need  to 
know  the  outcome  of  all  this." 

"  Reed  boy,  I  thought  so."  The  doctor's  hand, 
leaving  the  wrist,  came  to  rest  upon  the  nearer 
shoulder  with  a  grip  which  was  like  a  benediction. 
"  It  has  been  a  fearful  time  of  waiting.  I  wish  I 
could  tell  you  what  the  end  will  be ;  but  —  Reed, 
I  can't." 


THE    BRENTONS  185 

"  You  mean  you  won't,"  Opdyke  corrected  him  a 
little  sharply. 

But  Doctor  Keltridge  forgave  the  sharpness,  as 
his  eyes  rested  on  the  drawn,  white  face. 

"  I  mean  I  can't,"  he  iterated.  "  Reed,  that 's  the 
damned  cruelty  of  the  whole  position,  for  you  and 
for  us  who  care  for  you.  It  would  have  been  any 
amount  easier  to  have  accepted  things  at  their  worst, 
months  ago,  than  to  keep  on  in  this  grilling  inde 
cision,  fearing  everything  and  yet  hanging  on  to 
every  vestige  of  hope  for  something  better.  Don't 
think  I  have  n't  been  realizing  that,  my  boy,  ever 
since  they  brought  you  in  and  tucked  you  up  in  that 
infernal  bed.  It  would  n't  have  been  one  half  so 
hard  for  you,  then,  or  since,  if  you  'd  known  that 
you  'd  step  down  and  out  of  it  at  any  given  time, 
or  even  that  you  were  there  to  stay  for  ever.  It 's 
the  uncertainty  that  kills.  And  that  —  " 

"Well?"  Reed  asked  him  steadily. 

"  Is  just  as  great  as  ever." 

"You  mean?" 

The  doctor  straightened  in  his  chair,  stiffening 
himself  to  administer  the  bitter  draught. 

"  That  the  dozen  best  surgeons  in  the  country 
never  could  agree  on  it,  whether  you  will  come  out 
of  this  thing,  or  not.  All  we  can  do  is  to  grip  our 
courage,  and  leave  the  matter  — 

"On  the  knees  of  Allah?"  Reed  asked  a  little 
bitterly. 

The  doctor's  reply  was  grave. 

"  Yes,  Reed.  Upon  the  knees  of  Allah  and  within 
the  hands  of  modern  science.  They  are  bound  to 
work  together,  in  a  case  like  this." 


186  THE    BRENTONS 

The  grip  upon  Reed's  shoulder  tightened  for  a 
minute.  Then  it  fell  away,  and  again  the  supple 
fingers  shut  upon  Reed's  wrist. 

"  It 's  no  especial  use  to  preach  to  you  about  keep 
ing  up  your  courage,  Reed.  You  're  bound  to  do 
that,  being  you.  I  only  wish  I  could  have  given  you 
a  squarer  answer  to  your  question ;  but  —  I  can't. 
Now,  about  the  surgeons :  you  'd  like  to  have  them 
come  up  again?  " 

Reed  shook  his  head,  and  the  gesture  was  a  weary 
one. 

"  No  use,  doctor.  I  believe  you  —  now.  I  had 
thought  you  were  putting  me  off,  out  of  a  mistaken 
sense  of  friendship,  and  that  I  'd  be  able  to  worm 
the  facts  of  the  case  from  them.  However,  now  you 
admit  that  the  present  uncertainty  is  the  worst  thing 
of  all,  I  'm  ready  to  take  your  word  —  only  —  it 
hurts !  All  night,  I  've  been  bracing  myself  to  take 
it,  and  now  nobody  knows  when  it  will  come,  or 
how."  For  a  little  while,  he  lay  quite  still;  and  the 
doctor  sat  still  beside  him,  waiting.  At  last,  Reed 
looked  up  with  a  forced  alertness.  "  How  is  Olive?  " 
he  inquired,  quite  in  his  ordinary  tone. 

Instantly  the  doctor's  face  changed,  lost  its  look 
of  waiting  strain,  grew  frankly  worried. 

"  Reed,  I  wish  I  knew,"  he  said. 

"  Is  she  ill?  "  Opdyke's  voice  sharpened. 

"  No ;  she  's  all  right,  only  something  has  upset 
her.  Did  n't  she  come  here,  yesterday  ?  No  ?  I 
thought  she  was  in  here,  every  day;  and  maybe 
that  —  The  doctor  checked  himself  abruptly. 

A  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  across  Reed's  face,  al 
though  the  hair  still  lay  damp  upon  his  temples. 


THE    BRENTONS  187 

"  That  we  had  been  fighting,  doctor? "  he  in 
quired.  "  Your  fatherly  fears  misled  you.  I  have  n't 
seen  her  for  two  days." 

"Queer!"  It  was  evident  that  Doctor  Keltridge, 
as  he  rose,  was  thinking  things  out  loud.  "  She  was 
all  right  at  breakfast,  jolly  as  }rou  please.  Then 
she  went  out  on  some  errands.  I  was  out  for 
luncheon,  and  so  missed  her.  When  she  came  down 
to  dinner,  she  had  n't  any  appetite  and  was  very 
feverish.  What 's  more,  if  it  had  been  anybody 
but  Olive,  I  'd  have  vowed  she  'd  cried  her  eyes  out, 
all  the  afternoon." 

"  And  this  morning?  "  Reed's  accent  showed  that 
he  was  profoundly  worried.  Tears,  indeed,  were 
out  of  all  harmony  with  his  experience  of  Olive 
Keltridge. 

The  doctor's  reply  came  crisply. 

"  Apparently,  she  'd  cried  them  in  again."  Then 
once  more  he  bent  above  the  couch  where  Opdyke 
lay.  "  Hang  on  to  the  tail  of  every  sort  of  hope, 
Reed,"  he  bade  him  cheerily.  "  It  's  not  an  es 
pecially  amusing  occupation;  but  it  is  about  the 
only  thing  for  us  to  do  at  present.  I  '11  look  in 
on  you,  in  the  morning,  to  make  sure  how  you  slept. 
By  the  way,"  he  tossed  the  last  words  back  across 
the  threshold ;  "  as  long  as  you  have  n't  much  else 
upon  your  hands,  I  think  I  '11  order  Olive  to  come 
down  here,  and  let  you  cheer  her  up  a  little."  And, 
before  Reed  could  answer,  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN 

IF  Reed  Opdyke  had  gained  any  inkling  of  the 
wide  swath  of  woe  and  consequent  spiritual  doubt- 
ings  that  he  was  cutting  among  the  closest  of  his 
personal  friends,  he  would  have  fallen  to  plucking 
out  his  hair  in  mingled  rage  and  shamed  amusement. 
Mercifully,  however,  that  humiliating  knowledge  was 
denied  him.  As  a  rule,  one  keeps  that  sort  of  ques 
tionings  from  their  subject;  as  a  rule,  he  is  the  last 
person  in  the  world  to  be  aware  of  them. 

Reed  Opdyke,  then,  was  thoroughly  perplexed, 
next  afternoon,  when  Brenton  walked  in  upon  him. 
The  change  in  the  young  rector,  more  than  usually 
obvious,  that  afternoon,  took  Opdyke  by  surprise. 
He  had  gained  no  inkling  that  anything  was  going 
really  wrong,  in  that  direction.  To  all  outward 
seeming,  Scott  Brenton  ought  to  have  been  riding 
on  the  crest  of  the  ecclesiastical  wave.  In  worldly 
parlance,  Saint  Peter's  Parish  was  on  the  boom. 
The  administration  of  it  had  completely  outgrown 
Brenton's  time  and  strength,  and  a  curate  was  in 
prospect,  with  a  deaconess  or  two  lurking  in  the 
more  remote  perspective. 

Brenton  himself,  meanwhile,  had  been  too  full  of 
work  for  making  many  calls.  He  had  telephoned  to 
Opdyke,  nearly  every  day,  had  sent  him  clever  arti- 


THE    BRENTONS  189 

cles  to  read,  and  things  of  that  sort;  but  he  had 
not  been  to  see  his  old  friend,  since  the  last  day  of 
the  year.  Pastoral  conversation  had  never  been  es 
pecially  popular  between  the  two  men;  yet  each  of 
them  was  well  aware  that,  all  things  considered,  an 
old-year  call  was  a  more  fitting  visitation  than  a 
new-year  one  for  Opdyke.  At  least  one  knew  the 
worst  of  the  old  year,  and  some  comfort  could  be 
taken  out  of  that.  Indeed,  next  morning,  Olive 
Keltridge  wished  that  she  had  followed  out  the  rec 
tor's  plan.  However,  Opdyke's  courage  was  better 
than  her  own.  When  she  stood  up  to  go  away,  he 
wished  her  a  happy  New  Year  with  a  nonchalance 
apparently  quite  genuine  and  free  from  envy.  Never 
theless,  something  in  his  accent  brought  the  stinging 
tears  to  Olive's  eyes.  Another  year,  such  as  the 
past  eight  months  — 

"  Ditto  to  you,  Reed !  "  she  answered  gayly.  "  I 
do  hope  it  will  find  you  back  in  the  field  again." 

He  nodded.     Then,  — 

"  But  think  how  lonesome  you  would  be,"  he  re 
minded  her. 

And  Olive  went  her  way,  thinking.  Indeed,  she 
thought  so  earnestly  about  the  fact  that  it  was  some 
time  before  she  noticed  that  the  phrase,  still  ringing 
in  her  ears,  was  in  the  optative,  not  in  the  simple 
future  which  she  herself  would  have  used  in  that 
connection.  Was  her  father  keeping  things  back 
from  her,  by  way  of  helping  her  to  maintain  her 
poise?  Did  Reed  himself  know  things  of  which  she 
was  in  ignorance?  Foolish,  especially  when  they 
were  friends  and  nothing  more !  It  was  a  friend's 
place  to  know  the  worst  of  things,  and  help  him 


190  THE    BRENTONS 

bear  them.  The  questions,  though,  stayed  with  her 
for  many  days.  They  had  been,  indeed,  at  the  back 
of  her  abstraction,  when  Dolph  Dennison  had  greeted 
her,  that  January  morning. 

Mingled  with  them,  too,  had  been  some  other  ques 
tions,  questions  akin  to  those  lashing  Scott  Bren- 
ton's  brain.  However,  in  the  case  of  Olive,  they 
were  incidental.  With  Brenton,  they  shook  the  foun 
dations  of  his  whole  professional  career. 

Indeed,  it  seemed  to  Brenton,  looking  down  upon 
the  still,  straight  figure  of  his  friend,  that  it  was 
little  short  of  the  incredible  that  Reed  Opdyke,  the 
hilarious,  the  irresponsible,  could  be  the  present  cause 
and  focus  of  a  storm  which  was  bidding  fair  to  make 
a  shipwreck  of  his  life.  If  only  Brenton  had  been 
aware  how,  long  ago,  Opdyke  had  been  detailed  to 
show  him  life  as  it  was,  and  to  teach  him  what  an 
ass  he  easily  might  become,  there  would  have  been 
a  certain  fitness,  to  his  mind,  in  the  later  situation. 
Once  more  Opdyke  had  been  detailed  to  show  him  life 
as  it  really  was,  life  and  some  other  things,  to  point 
out  to  him,  not  what  an  ass  he  might,  but  what  a 
hypocrite  he  had,  become. 

Nowadays,  it  was  that  latter  word  which  Brenton 
was  using,  as  a  spiritual  flail,  upon  himself.  Reed 
Opdyke's  overthrow  no  longer  filled  the  whole  hori 
zon  of  his  doubtings.  It  was  merely  the  starting- 
point  whence  he  had  embarked  on  a  voyage  long  and 
perilous.  At  first,  he  only  had  felt  a  vague  suspi 
cion  concerning  the  inherent  justice  and  clemency  of 
the  manifestations  of  special  Providence,  a  little 
wondering  whether  the  God  whom  he  had  chosen  to 
preach  to  all  men  was  of  necessity  so  much  more 


THE    BRENTONS  191 

merciful  and  fatherly  in  his  dealing  with  the  sons  of 
men  than  was  the  irate  God  of  all  the  line  of  Parson 
Wheelers.  They  would  have  laid  down  the  law  quite 
frankly  that  Reed  Opdyke  had  been  overtaken  and 
cut  down,  in  revenge  for  his  more  or  less  hereditary 
sins.  He  was  holding  forth  to  the  effect  that  Reed 
had  been  smitten  sorely,  regretfully,  in  order  that 
his  spiritual  betterment  be  effected  with  all  due 
promptness,  and  with  all  due  attention  from  his 
fellow  men.  To  how  much,  after  all,  did  the  differ 
ence  amount? 

Sunday  after  Sunday  during  those  interminable 
eight  months  when  Reed  had  lain  still  and  gritted 
his  teeth  to  keep  himself  from  waxing  too  profane, 
he  himself,  Scott  Brenton,  robed  in  the  stainless  garb 
of  his  holy  calling,  had  stood  up  before  his  people 
and  stained  his  conscience  by  uttering  platitudes  to 
that  effect.  Then,  sermon  over  and  the  service,  he 
had  gone  away  and  lavished  upon  Reed  Opdyke  a 
purely  human  sympathy  that  was  totally  unlike  the 
exalted  pity  of  the  priest.  In  other  words,  as  con 
cerned  Reed  Opdyke,  Brenton's  attitude  was  two- 
faced,  human,  priestly ;  two-faced,  and  the  two  faces 
were  mutually  antagonistic. 

Worst  of  all,  the  doubtings  did  not  focus  them 
selves  upon  the  solitary  instance.  They  spread  and 
spread,  until  they  honeycombed  his  entire  belief. 
Was  God  sometimes  a  little  bit  vindictive?  Did  the 
All-merciful  have  moods  that  would  have  shamed  cre 
ated  man?  Did  the  All-Father  now  and  then  punish, 
out  of  sheer  malevolence,  or  in  an  attempt  to  get  even 
with  man  for  the  results  of  instincts  He  had  put 
into  him  at  first  creation?  Was  that  first  creation 


192  THE    BRENTONS 

final  in  its  wisdom ;  or  had  it  been  a  partial  blunder, 
needing  the  interference  of  a  heaven-sent,  earth-born 
Intercessor  to  set  the  matter  right?  Could  the  All- 
Wise  make  a  blunder?  If  not,  then  why  the  Aton 
ing  Son?  In  short,  aside  from  some  mysterious  force 
which  had  set  certain  laws  to  rolling  like  mammoth, 
ever-growing  snowballs  down  the  slopes  of  time  and 
on  into  a  cold,  bleak  eternity  where  everything  was 
swept  up  in  their  courses,  was  there  ever  any  — 

At  this  point  in  his  never-ending  circle,  Scott 
Brenton  usually  started  to  his  feet,  seized  his  hat 
and  stick  and  shut  his  study  door  behind  him.  All 
out-doors  was  too  small  to  think  in.  Violent  exer 
cise  was  the  one  fit  setting  for  such  thought.  In  the 
end,  though,  the  wish  for  exercise  only  took  him  down 
across  the  valley,  and  spent  itself  just  as  he  reached 
the  river's  brink.  There,  on  the  long  white  bridge, 
he  stood  by  the  half-hour  at  a  time,  his  arms  folded 
on  the  rail,  his  eyes  fixed  vaguely  on  the  wintry 
current,  a  steel-gray  stretch  of  sliding,  slipping 
water  down  which  the  rough  white  ice  cakes  came 
floating,  drifting  silently,  relentlessly,  unendingly,  to 
crash  against  the  stone  piers  of  the  bridge.  In  that 
same  way,  out  of  the  gray,  bleak  perspective  of  his 
thoughts,  the  doubts  came  floating,  drifting  down 
upon  him  with  the  same  relentlessness,  to  crash 
against  the  foundations  of  his  belief.  Between  the 
two  of  them,  however,  there  was  this  difference:  the 
piers  were  never  chipped  or  shaken  by  the  ice 
cakes.  He  could  not  say  as  much  as  that  for  his 
beliefs. 

It  was  all  very  well  to  choose,  as  he  had  done,  a 
more  elastic  creed,  to  fling  his  life's  allegiance  into 


THE    BRENTONS  193 

a  communion  whose  tenets  were  so  framed  as  to  ad 
just  themselves  to  the  strain  of  purely  individual 
interpretation.  One  must  have  tenets  to  interpret. 
What  happened,  when  they  became  untenable?  One 
might  construe  the  Nicene  Creed  into  a  round  dozen 
different  'ologies.  A  mere  framework,  a  skeleton  of 
belief  such  as  the  Apostles'  Creed  was  capable  of  no 
such  reconstruction.  One  either  believed  it,  or  one 
did  not.  Unless  —  Did  anybody  ever  believe  any 
one  thing  in  its  unmodified  entirety?  Did  anybody 
ever  give  a  categorical  denial  to  any  clause  of  any 
creed?  That  was  the  worst  of  the  whole  matter. 
Half-doubts  and  half-beliefs  crisscrossed  and  inter 
laced  at  every  point.  One  day's  doctrine  was  the 
next  day's  error.  It  was  well-nigh  impossible  to 
draw  a  straight  line,  no  matter  how  short,  and  take 
one's  stand  upon  it,  and  say  out  boldly  /  believe, 
and  then  add  just  as  boldly  /  shall  keep  on  believing. 
After  all,  though,  that  was  what  he  professed  to 
do.  The  outward  setting  of  his  life,  from  the  early 
celebration  of  a  Sunday  morning  down  to  the  vir 
tuous  reversal  of  his  collar  buttons,  was  the  badge 
of  his  profession.  In  his  secret  heart,  as  the  Advent 
season  came  and  went,  and  as  the  Lenten  penances 
drew  near,  Scott  Brenton  had  no  way  of  telling 
where  in  reality  he  stood;  yet,  day  by  day  and  week 
by  week,  he  had  to  step  forth  before  his  congregation 
and  toilsomely  erect  a  platform  of  belief  upon  which, 
in  the  end,  his  feet  refused  to  mount.  Instead,  with 
every  semblance  of  priestly  humility,  he  stood  aside 
and  assisted  his  hearers  to  clamber  up  ahead  of  him. 
Once  there,  he  knew  that  he  could  count  upon  their 
smug  enjoyment  of  their  own  eminence  to  make  them 


194  THE    BRENTONS 

forget  to  notice  whether  or  not  he  took  his  stand 
beside  them. 

Of  course,  he  despised  himself  acutely.  Of  course, 
he  had  hours  and  moods  when  he  felt  that  he  must 
lift  up  his  voice  and  shout  aloud  to  all  men  — 
What?  That  he  did  not  know  exactly  what  he  did 
believe?  For,  in  reality,  that  was  all  the  whole 
pother  was  amounting  to.  What  was  the  use  in 
starting  the  alarm,  when  the  whole  great  crisis  might 
be  merely  a  matter  of  imagination,  of  indigestion, 
even,  as  Doctor  Keltridge  had  diagnosed  it?  In 
that  case,  the  best,  the  only  remedy  was  work. 

And  work  Scott  Brenton  did.  The  parish  was 
growing,  month  by  month.  The  mere  detail  of  its 
executive  alone  was  enough  to  tax  the  strength  of 
most  men.  Brenton  managed  it,  however;  he  also 
contrived  to  get  into  the  day's  work  as  much  of 
pastoral  visitation  as  he  could  accomplish,  without 
running  into  the  adulation  with  which  he  was  un 
comfortably  aware  he  was  surrounded.  The  even 
ings  and  a  good  portion  of  the  nights  he  devoted  to 
his  sermons  which  never  had  been  so  brilliant  as  now, 
never  so  vibrant  with  the  essential  truths  of  per 
sonal  morality,  of  earnest  service.  Indeed,  his  pro 
fessional  life,  just  then,  seemed  rounding  itself  into 
a  never-ending  circle:  the  harder  he  worked,  the 
more  inspiring  were  his  sermons,  thus  broadening 
and  deepening  his  grasp  upon  his  hearers.  And  this, 
in  turn,  put  new  vitality  into  his  parish  needs,  and 
so  increased  his  work  past  any  computation. 

It  would  have  been  no  especial  wonder,  then,  that 
this  revolving  circle  should  shut  him  in  entirely  from 
any  chance  to  see  an  old  chum  like  Reed  Opdyke. 


THE    BRENTONS  195 

Opdyke  himself  accepted  the  explanation.  Brenton 
knew  it  was  false,  and  flagrantly  so.  He  longed 
acutely  to  sit  down  beside  his  old  friend,  to  unbur 
den  himself  to  the  very  dregs  and  then  to  sort  over 
the  dregs,  discussing  them  and  judging  them  in  the 
light  of  Opdyke's  old,  shrewd  common  sense  and  in 
the  clearer  light  of  Opdyke's  new  and  illuminating 
experience.  How  could  he,  though,  when  the  whole 
mental  situation  had  evolved  itself  over  his  kicking 
against  the  pricks  administered  to  his  old-time  idol? 
To  discuss  the  matter  with  Reed  Opdyke  would  have 
been  equivalent  to  sticking  a  knife  into  him,  and 
then  inviting  him  to  take  a  microscope  and  study 
the  composition  of  the  drops  that  oozed  up  around 
the  knife  blade. 

And  then,  one  day,  he  yielded  to  temptation,  and 
went  to  call  upon  Reed  Opdyke,  not  to  indulge  in 
theoretical  discussion  concerning  the  accident  viewed 
as  an  exponent  of  universal  truths ;  but  for  the 
simple  sake  of  seeing  his  old  friend  and  exchanging 
greetings.  Indeed,  where  was  the  use  of  wasting  the 
good  material  of  friendship  by  seeking  to  convert 
it  to  a  touchstone  whereby  to  measure  up  one's  theo 
logical  beliefs?  Reed  was  Reed,  albeit  flattened  out 
upon  his  long,  lean  back,  and  not  a  culture-pan  for 
psychological  germs. 

A  good  deal  to  his  own  regret,  Brenton  met  Olive 
Keltridge  on  the  Opdyke's  steps. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  've  come,  Mr.  Brenton,"  she 
said  cordially,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  greet 
ing.  "  Reed  has  been  wondering  what  had  become 
of  you.  No ;  not  that,  exactly.  My  father  and  I 
both  had  told  him  that  Saint  Peter's  was  working 


196  ,     THE    BRENTONS 

you  to  death.  Still,  he  has  missed  you,  and  his 
father  is  actually  pathetic  in  his  mourning.  He  told 
me,  yesterday,  that  you  had  never  seen  his  new  hood. 
Really,  it  sounded  rather  feminine,  his  pride  in  that 
new  hood  of  his.  You  'd  have  thought  it  must  be 
a  creation  of  chiffon  and  ermine,  not  of  ordinary 
brick  and  mortar.  How  is  Mrs.  Brenton?" 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you." 

The  maid  was  slow  about  appearing,  and  Olive 
chatted  on,  by  way  of  filling  up  the  time. 

"  I  'm  glad.  It  is  two  weeks  or  so,  since  I  have 
seen  her.  She  told  me  then  that  she  hardly  caught 
a  glimpse  of  you,  all  day  long.  Indeed,  she  was 
almost  as  pathetic  about  it  as  Professor  Opdyke. 
It  really  is  too  bad  for  the  church  to  keep  you  quite 
so  busy." 

"  But,  if  it  is  my  work?  "  Brenton  interrupted 
banally,  for,  in  his  secret  heart,  he  was  painfully 
aware  that  it  was  not  the  church  alone  which  kept 
him  so  preoccupied  that  his  preoccupation  had  come 
to  be  an  occupation  on  its  own  account. 

"Your  work  needn't  be  suicidal,"  Olive  objected. 
"  My  father,  even,  says  it  is  taking  it  out  of  you 
rather  badly,  and  he  insists  that  they  must  hurry 
about  the  curate.  Seven  hours  a  day  is  enough  for 
any  man,  he  says;  and  he  declares  that  you  are 
working  twenty.  In  fact,"  Olive  looked  up  at  him 
to  carry  home  her  admonition ;  "  he  says  that  he 
has  warned  you  more  than  once  that  you  must  slow 
down  a  little,  or  else  stop." 

"  At  least,  that  would  be  restful."  Brenton  spoke 
more  to  himself  than  Olive. 

But  she  turned  on  him. 


THE    BRENTONS  197 

"  Reed  has  n't  found  it  so,"  she  said. 

Brenton's  face  changed,  clouded. 

"  That  is  an  extreme  case,  Miss  Keltridge."  Then, 
with  an  effort,  he  changed  the  subject  and  became 
frankly  personal.  "How  is  Opdyke  getting  on?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  He  is  n't  getting  on,  unless  you  count  as  the  on 
a  distinct  gain  in  the  beauty  of  holiness.  No,"  she 
interrupted  him  with  a  sudden  gesture ;  "  I  don't 
mean  the  kind  of  holiness  you  preach,  on  Sunday ; 
but  the  kind  we  both  of  us  admire,  on  Monday 
morning." 

"  Is  there  a  difference?  "  he  queried,  while  his  gray 
eyes  searched  her  face. 

She  met  his  eyes  unflinchingly. 

"  Is  n't  there?  Preacher  that  you  are,  I  defy  you 
to  deny  it." 

And  then  the  maid  opened  the  door  before  them, 
and  they  passed  in. 

Once  in  the  hall,  however,  Olive  changed  her  mind 
about  going  up  to  Reed's  room. 

"  I  think  I  '11  wait,  Mr.  Brenton,"  she  said  sud 
denly.  "  Really,  I  have  nothing  much  ahead  of  me, 
to-day.  I  can  come  in  later,  just  as  well;  and  you 
are  a  novelty,  in  these  latter  days.  Go  on  alone, 
and  talk  man-talk  to  Reed.  It  will  do  him  any 
amount  more  good  than  dozens  of  my  visitations. 
Just  don't  tell  him  I  was  here,  and  then  he  won't  have 
any  qualms  about  holding  on  to  you  till  the  last 
possible  minute.  I  '11  come  in  again." 

«  But  —  " 

"  No  but  about  it.  I  tell  you  he  needs  men.  In 
fact,  we  all  do,  now  and  then,  no  matter  how  we  try 


198  THE    BRENTONS 

to  veil  the  fact.  If  you  want  proof,  ask  any  sane 
woman  whether  she  would  rather  go  out  to  luncheon 
or  to  dinner.  Granted  her  sincerity  is  n't  compli 
cated  with  questionings  about  a  frock,  she  will  de 
clare  for  dinner,  every  time.  Go  in,  though.  This 
is  most  irrelevant.  Moreover,  by  way  of  living  up 
to  my  own  theory,  I  'm  going  to  take  the  time  when 
you  are  out  of  the  way,  to  drop  in  on  Mrs.  Brenton. 
Good  bye,  and  —  be  very  good  to  Reed." 

The  door  shut  behind  her,  and  Brenton  went  on 
up  the  stairs,  wondering,  at  every  step,  what  had 
been  the  meaning  of  her  final  phrase.  Meaning  it 
obviously  had.  Olive  rarely  talked  at  random  to  any 
of  her  acquaintances ;  never  at  all,  it  seemed  to  Bren 
ton,  in  thinking  backward  over  the  way,  from  point 
to  point,  her  mind  apparently  had  been  marching 
on  beside  his  own.  Did  her  intuitions  never  fail 
her,  in  the  case  of  any  man?  Or  was  it  that  her 
clairvoyance  focussed  itself  on  him?  Did  she,  in 
deed,  actually  comprehend  her  old  friend,  Opdyke, 
one  half  so  clearly  as  she  did  himself?  Priest  though 
he  was,  the  man  in  him  had  an  instant  of  hoping 
not. 

It  was  now  two  years  and  more,  since  Olive  and 
Brenton  first  had  met.  In  the  forced  intimacy  of 
a  narrow  social  circle,  they  had  been  thrown  together 
often;  the  churchly  relation  between  Brenton  and 
his  senior  warden  had  increased  the  frequency.  As 
a  rule,  the  meetings  had  been  at  the  Keltridges'. 
The  doctor  liked  Scott;  Kathryn  did  not  like  Olive. 
However,  though  the  invitations  had  been  nearly 
always  upon  the  one  side,  in  any  case,  hostess  or 
guest,  there  had  been  no  way  of  eradicating  Olive. 


THE    BRENTONS  199 

Olive  and  Brenton,  then,  had  met  almost  con 
stantly,  during  those  last  two  years.  They  had  dis 
cussed  together  quite  impersonally  all  things  under 
the  sun  and  above  the  moon.  Their  personal  talks 
had  been  few  and  very  short.  None  the  less,  Scott 
Brenton  was  quite  well  aware  that  no  one  in  the 
world  knew  his  real  self  so  well  as  Olive  Keltridge. 
Aware  of  it,  however,  he  was  fully  conscious  that 
the  fact  caused  him  no  regrets  at  all.  Catie,  as  he 
still  called  her  on  occasion,  should,  of  course,  have 
been  the  one  to  comprehend  him ;  but,  like  the  cicada, 
he  merely  iterated  "  Catie  did  n't."  And  comprehen 
sion  is  the  primal  need  of  every  man. 


CHAPTER    SEVENTEEN 

OLIVE  found  Kathryn  Brenton  in  the  extreme  of 
disarray.  The  littered  room  was  as  unlovely  as  the 
careless  costume,  and  Kathryn's  personal  grooming 
matched  them  both.  It  really  was  not  her  fault,  she 
explained  in  fretful  apology.  She  had  not  expected 
to  see  a  soul,  that  morning;  but  the  maid  had  given 
warning  all  at  once,  really  apropos  of  nothing,  and 
was  up-stairs,  packing.  They  were  such  selfish 
creatures.  It  was  up  and  out,  at  a  minute's  notice, 
and  you  can  take  care  of  yourself  as  best  you 
can.  If  she  had  behaved  herself,  and  not  gone  off 
in  a  tantrum,  she  would  have  been  there  to  open 
the  door,  and  then  Olive  would  n't  have  caught  her 
in  that  old  dressing  gown  she  had  put  on  just  for 
breakfast. 

All  this  was  delivered  volubly  in  the  front  hall, 
while  Kathryn  closed  the  door  behind  her  guest  and 
then  drew  down  the  blinds,  by  way  of  hospitable 
intimation  to  any  later  comers  that  she  was  not  at 
home.  That  done,  she  led  the  way  into  the  living- 
room,  while  Olive,  at  her  heels,  registered  her  im 
pression  of  any  woman  who  would  be  willing  thus  to 
present  herself  above  the  breakfast  table  to  any  man, 
least  of  all  her  husband.  However,  it  was  plain  that, 


THE    BRENTONS  201 

with  Kathryn  and  her  husband,  the  least  of  all  had 
become  the  most,  and  that,  too,  at  an  epoch  when, 
if  ever,  Kathryn  needed  to  take  the  very  greatest  care 
to  fix  upon  herself  the  seal  of  lifelong  and  admiring 
devotion.  Of  course,  there  might  be  such  a  thing 
as  a  devotion  void  of  any  admiration.  Olive  Kelt- 
ridge,  however,  was  not  a  woman  to  accept  that  sort 
of  thing.  Neither,  she  reflected  swiftly,  was  Scott 
Brenton  quite  the  sort  of  man  to  offer  it. 

Meanwhile,  Kathryn,  seated  in  a  chair  a  good 
deal  lower  than  the  laws  of  perfect  grace  dictated, 
huddled  her  shabby  dressing  gown  about  her,  ran 
a  vaguely  apologetic  hand  through  her  puggy  pompa 
dour,  and  went  on  with  her  domestic  narration. 

"  It 's  so  queer  what  sets  them  off,  Miss  Keltridge. 
One  never  knows  when  they  will  fly  up  in  a  temper; 
at  least,  the  kind  I  seem  to  get.  I  never  have  the 
luck  you  do.  Why,  you  have  had  the  same  second 
girl,  ever  since  we  moved  here." 

"The?  Oh,  Margaret?  Yes,  she  has  been  with 
us  about  nine  years."  Olive  smiled.  "  She  seems 
almost  like  a  member  of  the  family,  by  now." 

Kathryn  shook  her  head  in  self-pity.  The  self- 
pity  loosened  a  little  tail  of  hair  which  arose,  ram 
pant,  from  the  exact  middle  of  her  crown.  How 
ever,  Kathryn  lacked  a  mirror  within  range,  and  so 
she  talked  on  quite  as  contentedly,  despite  the  wav 
ing,  waggling  tail. 

"  Yes,  so  many  other  people  seem  to  get  that  kind 
of  girls,  so  devoted  and  such  competent  ones ;  but, 
for  my  part,  I  don't  see  where  they  find  them.  I 
pay  the  very  highest  prices,  and  I  always  look  up 
their  references;  but  they  all  are  just  alike.  I  have 


202  THE    BRENTONS 

had  nine  different  cooks,  the  last  five  months,  and 
each  one  was  a  little  worse  than  —  " 

"  I  met  Mr.  Brenton  just  now,"  Olive  cut  in,  with 
decision. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  his  wife  inquired  indifferently.  "  I 
didn't  know  he  had  gone  out." 

"  Yes."  Olive's  decision  increased  a  little.  "  I 
thought  he  was  n't  looking  very  well." 

"  Scott?  Oh,  he  's  well  enough.  What  should  ail 
him  ?  "  Kathryn  loosened  her  soggy  draperies  for  an 
instant,  then  tightened  them  in  the  reverse  direction. 
"  He  has  n't  a  worry  to  his  name,  hardly  a  care." 

Struggle  as  she  would,  Olive  knew  her  accent  was 
becoming  more  dry  with  every  sentence  that  she 
uttered. 

"  I  should  have  supposed  the  church  —  " 

"  Church?  That 's  nothing.  At  least,  it 's  only  in 
his  line  of  business,  the  thing  that  he  set  his  heart 
upon  and  trained  for.  I  wonder  what  he  would  say, 
if  he  had  the  care  of  this  great  house." 

"  It  is  larger  than  most  rectories,"  Olive  made 
polite  assent. 

But  swiftly  Kathryn  retrieved  her  blunder. 

"  Of  course,"  she  added ;  "  I  always  have  been 
accustomed  to  a  large  house.  It  is  only  that  this 
one  seems  to  me  inconvenient.  The  back  stairs  are 
so  very  central,  and  the  telephones  are  so  badly 
placed,  one  in  the  study,  and  the  other  away  out  in 
the  back  of  the  hall.  Really,  you  would  think,  to 
see  them,  that  the  rector  and  the  servants  were  the 
only  ones  to  be  considered,  and  not  the  housekeeper 
at  all." 

Stolidly  regardless  of  the  criticism,  Olive  returned 


THE    BRENTONS  203 

to  her  former  theme.  She  did  this  of  a  distinct 
purpose,  too.  It  seemed  to  her  to  be  quite  incredible 
that  the  woman  before  her  could  be  blind  to  her 
husband's  haggard  face.  None  the  less,  watching 
Kathryn,  she  could  not  in  sincerity  accuse  her  of 
any  shamming. 

"  It  really  has  worried  us,  my  father  and  me,  that 
Mr.  Brenton  has  n't  looked  quite  as  strong  lately, 
as  when  he  came  here,"  she  insisted. 

"Oh,  I  think  he  is  quite  well.  Men,"  Kathryn 
gave  a  vindictive  sort  of  flap  to  the  front  breadths 
of  her  dressing  gown ;  "  never  know  what  it  is  to 
be  really  ill.  I  tell  Scott,  if  he  were  in  my 
place  — 

In  mercy  to  probabilities,  Olive  interrupted. 

"  Saint  Peter's  has  grown  so  fast,  since  he  came 
here,"  she  said. 

Kathryn  promptly  took  umbrage  at  the  singular 
number  of  the  pronoun. 

"  I  'm  sure  we  've  done  our  best,"  she  answered 
tartly.  "  It  has  been  hard  work,  though,  in  such 
a  dead  old  town  as  this." 

"  But,  with  all  the  college  girls  — "  Olive  was 
beginning. 

Kathryn  cut  her  short. 

"  They  count  for  nothing  in  the  parish.  They  just 
come  to  church,  when  they  get  up  in  season ;  that 's 
about  all.  Of  course,  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if 
they  did  count  for  more.  The  poor  old  church  is 
in  need  of  something  young  and  lively ;  now  and  then 
it  seems  to  me  to  be  fairly  doddering.  Poor  Scott 
feels  it,  too.  He  can't  help  it.  Every  man  and 
woman  in  the  congregation  was  born,  ready  made, 


204  THE    BRENTONS 

with  a  whole  set  of  prejudices,  born  in  a  rut  that 
nothing  can  break  down.  I  tell  him  —  " 

Once  more  Olive  interrupted.  Indeed,  it  was  her 
only  method  of  driving  in  an  entering  wedge  of 
speech. 

"  That  is  what  we  old  New  Englanders  love,  Mrs. 
Brenton,"  she  said,  with  a  sweetness  that  was  almost 
acid.  "  Remember  that  we  and  our  ancestors  have 
lived  in  these  same  houses  since  King  George  the 
Third's  day,  and  then  you  will  forgive  us  for  some 
of  our  ready-made  prejudices." 

Kathryn  glanced  up  suspiciously.  Then  she 
sought  to  flay  her  guest  with  all  discretion. 

"  Really  ?  How  very  tiresome  you  must  have 
found  it !  "  she  made  answer. 

"  Not  at  all.  It 's  the  other  thing  that  we  find 
so  tiresome,"  Olive  assured  her,  not  without  some 
malice. 

"Where  did  you  see  Mr.  Brenton?"  Kathryn 
asked  her  quite  abruptly. 

"  He  was  going  to  call  on  Mr.  Opdyke." 

"  Reed,  or  the  professor?  " 

This  time,  Olive's  accent  was  not  to  be  mistaken. 

"  Mr.  Reed  Opdyke,"  she  said. 

Kathryn  ignored  the  rebuke  completely. 

"How  is  Reed?"  she  queried. 

Then  Olive  gave  it  up,  and  left  her  to  her  chosen 
methods. 

"  About  the  same." 

"  Is  n't  there  anything  I  can  do  for  him  yet  ?  " 
Kathryn  inquired,  with  an  abrupt  letting  down  of  her 
terse  dignity.  "  It  does  seem  a  shame  I  can't  do 
something  to  help  the  poor  fellow  along,  especially 


THE    BRENTONS  205 

when  it  is  so  many  years  that  I  have  known  him. 
It 's  not  as  if  he  were  a  mere  acquaintance,  of  course, 
and  I  want  him  to  feel  quite  at  liberty  to  send  for 
me,  whenever  he  wants  me." 

"  I  am  sure  he  does,  Mrs.  Brenton,"  Olive  assured 
her,  with  gentle  malice,  for  not  in  vain  was  "  the 
poor  fellow  "  phrase  rankling  in  her  mind. 

"  Then  why  in  the  world  does  n't  he  send  ? " 
Kathryn  asked  rather  injudiciously. 

Olive  dodged  the  only  direct  answer  she  could  have 
made. 

"  Perhaps  he  shrinks  a  little  —  "  she  was  starting. 

Kathryn,  still  regardless  of  the  waggling  little 
tail,  shook  her  head  in  vehement  negation. 

"  Oh,  he  would  n't  be  shy  with  me,  Miss  Keltridge. 
Remember,  I  'm  quite  an  old  married  woman  now ; 
there  's  no  reason  he  should  feel  at  all  —  Besides, 
he  sees  you,"  she  added,  her  voice  sharpening  with 
the  sudden  recollection. 

Olive  laughed. 

"  Me?  Oh,  I  'm  totally  amorphous,  Mrs.  Brenton, 
a  mere  lump  of  old  associations.  It 's  good  for 
Mr.  Opdyke  to  have  somebody  to  giggle  with 
occasionally." 

Kathryn's  voice  betrayed  her  dislike  of  the  flip 
pant  answer. 

"  Poor  dear  man !  I  guess  he  does  n't  giggle  very 
often.  Really,  Miss  Keltridge,  I  sometimes  wonder 
if  you  realize  how  very  sad  it  is." 

"  Very  likely  not,"  Olive  said  dryly. 

"  No ;  that 's  what  I  say.  You  see  him  so  often 
that  you  get  used  to  it.  It  is  so  easy  to  take  such 
things  as  a  matter  of  course." 


806  THE    BRENTONS 

"  You  think  so  ?  "  The  dryness  was  increasing. 
"  It  never  had  occurred  to  me  to  feel  like  that." 

"  No  ?  "  Then  all  at  once  Kathryn  dropped  her 
antagonisms  and  smiled  across  at  Olive.  "  Dear 
Miss  Keltridge,  I  don't  want  to  gossip ;  but,  between 
old  friends  like  ourselves,  one  can  speak  out.  Has 
it  ever  seemed  strange  to  you  that  we  none  of  us 
know  just  what  is  wrong  with  Reed  Opdyke?  Or 
do  you  know?  " 

"  I  have  no  idea  at  all." 

"But  don't  you  ever  wonder?" 

"  No ;  it 's  not  my  business,"  Olive  said  curtly. 
Then  her  sense  of  downright  honour  undermined 
her  curtness.  "  Yes ;  after  all,  I  suppose  that,  being 
human,  I  do  wonder  now  and  then." 

"  Then  you  don't  know,  either?  " 

"How  should  I?" 

"  You  see  him  so  very  often." 

Olive  stiffened. 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Brenton,  it 's  not  a  thing  one  talks 
about." 

"Oh?"  Kathryn's  accent  was  indescribable.  "I 
supposed  he  'd  talk  to  you.  Or  have  n't  you  ever 
asked  him?  " 

"  I  have  not." 

Kathryn  leaned  a  little  nearer. 

"  After  all,  Miss  Keltridge,  does  n't  that  seem  a 
little  bit  —  " 

Olive  waited. 

"Self  — er  — centred?" 

"  I  don't  see  how.  Mr.  Opdyke  would  tell  me,  if 
he  cared  to  have  me  know." 

"  Unless  he  thought  you  would  find  it  out  by  in- 


THE    BRENTONS  207 

tuition,"  Kathryn  suggested  balmily,  as  she  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  and  smoothed  her  dressing 
gown. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Olive  downed  her 
amusement. 

"  Intuition,  as  a  rule,  does  n't  count  for  much  with 
spines  and  internal  injuries,"  she  said. 

Kathryn  once  more  became  eager. 

"Then  it  is  his  spine,  poor  dear  man?" 

And  once  more  Olive  became  dry. 

"  I  should  think  it  highly  probable  from  the  way 
they  are  treating  him." 

"  Terrible ;  is  n't  it  ?  "  And  Olive  almost  forgave 
her  hostess  all  things,  for  the  sake  of  the  one  word 
of  honest  and  spontaneous  pity,  devoid  of  all  "  poor 
dears."  Then  her  forgiveness  waned.  "  However, 
if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  'd  ask  him  outright  what 
is  the  trouble.  I  think  the  Opdykes  owe  it  to  their 
friends  to  speak  out  and  end  the  mystery,  and  put 
a  stop  to  all  the  gossip." 

"Is  there  gossip?"  Olive  queried  disdainfully,  as 
she  arose. 

Still  seated,  Kathryn  stared  up  at  her  with  eyes 
that  were  determined  to  lose  no  flicker  of  an  an 
swering  confession. 

"  Of  course.  In  a  case  like  this,  there  's  bound  to 
be.  There 's  every  sort  of  story  floating  about. 
Some  people  even  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  they 
only  brought  home  the  top  end  of  him ;  that  all 
that  shows  below  his  waist  is  only  a  padded  roll 
of  blankets.  That 's  one  reason  I  want  so  much  to 
see  him;  I  know  I  could  tell  whether  there  was  any 
truth  in  such  absurd  stories."  She  pulled  herself 


208  THE    BRENTONS 

up  short ;  then  went  on  with  a  change  of  tone.  "  Of 
course,  though,  what  I  really  want  is  to  help  him 
pass  the  time,  if  I  can.  He  must  be  very  lonely 
for  thoroughly  congenial  people.  Must  you  go?  Be 
sure  you  give  the  poor  dear  man  my  message.  And 
good  bye.  Next  time,  I  do  hope  I  shall  have  a  re 
spectable  maid  to  let  you  out.  I  'm  quite  ashamed 
—  Good  bye." 

Out  on  the  steps  in  the  clean  February  air  and 
sunshine,  Olive  drew  in  a  deep,  full  breath. 

"  Poor,  dear  old  Reed !  "  she  said.  And  then,  in 
quite  another  tone,  "  Poor  Mr.  Brenton !  How 
totally  impossible  she  is !  " 

And,  meanwhile,  the  "  puffic'  fibbous,"  quite  un 
aware  of  their  discussion  of  his  personality  and  its 
injuries,  lay  smiling  mirthfully  up  into  the  eyes  of 
his  old  friend. 

"  Spit  it  out,  Brenton !  Rift  it  aff  yer  chist !  "  he 
adjured  him.  "  Something  has  gone  bad  inside  your 
Denmark,  and  I  'm  so  far  kindred  to  the  blessed 
angels  that  I  don't  tell  any  tales." 

Brenton  squirmed  with  a  physical  uneasiness  that 
was  an  outward  and  visible  sign  of  his  spiritual 
one. 

"What's  the  use?" 

"  Ease  your  mind.  It 's  a  good  thing  to  get  rid 
of  waste  matter,  if  't  is  waste.  Else,  if  it 's  any 
good,  it  will  gain  value  by  being  set  forth  in  order. 
Go  ahead  with  your  firstly.  By  the  way,  why  don't 
you  smoke?  " 

"  Because  I  have  a  conscience,"  Brenton  told  him 
bluntly. 

"Approaching  Lent;    or  on  my  account?     Don't 


THE    BRENTONS  209 

mind  me.  I  rather  long  for  the  smell  of  the  stuff, 
even  if  the  taste  of  it  is  forbidden  me.  Really,  Bren- 
ton,"  and  Opdyke  looked  up  at  him  with  singularly 
unclouded  eyes ;  "  that 's  about  my  present  life  in 
epitome.  I  offer  you  the  idea  for  your  next 
sermon." 

"  Sermon  be  hanged !  I  don't  serve  up  my  friends, 
by  way  of  garnishing  my  theoretical  beliefs,"  Bren- 
ton  objected  shortly. 

Opdyke  made  a  wry  face. 

"  That 's  where  you  miss  your  innings,  then.  I 
understand,  by  way  of  Ramsdell,  that  the  Methodist 
incumbent  lately  preached  a  sermon  upon  resigna 
tion,  and  did  me  the  honour  of  taking  me,  quite 
specifically,  to  illustrate  his  climax.  That  is  what 
I  call  fame,  Brenton,  a  greater  fame  than  any  I 
ever  could  have  garnered  in  by  way  of  engineering." 

"  Beastly  thing  to  do ! "  Brenton  made  brief 
comment. 

"  Was  n't  it  ?  When  I  get  on  my  legs  again,  if 
ever  I  do,  I  '11  call  him  out  and  lick  him.  By  the 
way,  the  last  of  my  cigars  are  in  that  drawer.  Don't 
let  them  spoil.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  what  hum 
bugs  you  parsons  are !  " 

Brenton,  digging  in  the  chaos  of  the  drawer  be 
fore  him,  lifted  up  his  head. 

"  Are  n't  we,  though ! "  he  said,  with  sudden 
energy. 

"  Hullo !  "  Reed  stared  at  him  in  astonishment. 
"You've  found  it  out?" 

"  I  have." 

"How  long  since?" 

Brenton  hesitated. 


210  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Six  or  eight  months." 

Reed  laughed  unconcernedly. 

"  Coincident  with  my  home-coming,  Scott?  I  hope 
I  did  n't  bring  the  seeds  of  disaffection  with  me. 
But,  for  a  fact,  is  that  the  present  row?  " 

"  Yes." 

There  came  a  long  silence.     Then  Reed  spoke. 

"  Brenton,  you  always  were  a  curiously  con 
structed  creature  mentally.  What  is  the  matter? 
Is  your  present  ecclesiastical  harness  galling  you?  " 

"  Yes."  Brenton  lighted  a  match  with  exceeding 
awkwardness. 

"  Bedding  is  inflammable,  Brenton,"  Reed  warned 
him.  "  Therefore  I  advise  you  to  keep  a  steady 
hand.  I  'm  too  big  a  brand  for  a  slim  chap  like 
you  to  pluck  from  the  burning,  to  our  mutual  com 
fort.  Apropos,  there  's  another  grand  idea  for  your 
sermon.  You  can  suppress  the  naughty  nicotine 
motif  for  the  theme,  if  you  choose.  But  what  in 
thunder,  made  you  put  on  the  harness,  in  the  first 
place?" 

"  Filial  devotion." 

"  Exactly.  I  remember.  But  you  chose  another 
pattern,  sloughed  off  the  work-horse  collar  of  Cal 
vinism  in  favour  of  the  lighter  ritualistic  bridle,  if 
I  may  speak  picturesquely.  You  made  your  choice. 
Now  what's  the  matter?  Hitched  up  too  short;  or 
have  you  kicked  over  the  traces  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  yet."  Brenton  spoke  grimly,  his  over 
cast  gray  eyes  offering  a  curious  contrast  to  the 
sunny  brown  ones  of  the  man  lying  flat  and  still 
before  him. 

This  time,  Reed  looked  anxious. 


THE    BRENTONS  211 

"  I  would  n't,  Scott,"  he  said,  and  a  little  note 
of  affection  came  into  his  tone.  "  You  '11  sure  be 
sorry." 

"But,  if  I  can't  help  it?" 

"  You  can."     Reed  spoke  crisply. 

"  I  can't.  The  whole  thing  is  galling  me,  I  tell 
you,  the  whole  —  '  Brenton  hesitated ;  "  infernal 
sham."  The  last  two  words  he  flung  out  with  a 
heavy  defiance. 

"  Sham  is  n't  a  polite  word  for  that  sort  of  thing," 
Opdyke  answered  swiftly.  "  You  're  the  parson, 
Brenton ;  I  am  nothing  but  a  sinner  cut  down  in 
my  prime.  Still,  in  your  place,  I  think  I  would  n't 
call  it  all  a  sham.  There  's  too  much  good  inside 
it.  When  one  has  all  the  time  there  is,  one  thinks 
it  out,  good  and  bad,  to  the  bitter  end.  And 
there 's  any  amount  more  good  than  bad  in  the 
whole  combination." 

Brenton  nodded ;  but  the  nod  implied  more  denial 
than  assent. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said  slowly.  "  Still,  it 's  any 
amount  less  provable." 

"  Proof  be  hanged !  You  '11  never  succeed  in  re 
ducing  the  moral  universe  to  a  set  of  molecular 
equations,  Brenton.  Best  give  it  up,  and  take  what 's 
left  in  the  most  thankful  spirit  that  you  can,  not 
let  the  unprovable  part  of  it  get  on  your  nerves 
like  this." 

Brenton  chewed  the  end  of  his  cigar,  as  if  it  had 
been  the  cud  of  his  spiritual  discontent. 

"  But,  by  my  profession,  I  am  here  to  preach  the 
truth,"  he  burst  out  at  length. 

"  Preach  it,  then,"  Opdyke  advised  him  calmly. 


212  THE    BRENTONS 

"  According  to  my  notion,  truth  can  always  be 
proved." 

"  Prove  it,  then,"  Opdyke  advised  him,  with  un 
abated  calm. 

"  It  won't."  Brenton  spoke  with  the  curt  elision 
of  his  country  ancestry. 

Opdyke  watched  him  steadily  for  more  than  a 
minute.  Then,  — 

"  Brenton,  don't  make  an  ass  of  yourself,"  he  be 
sought  his  friend.  "  You  have  befuddled  your  brain 
with  such  big  words  as  truth  and  proof;  but  don't 
go  on  your  nerves  about  it.  You  are  doing  any 
amount  of  good,  from  all  accounts,  here  in  the  town. 
If  you  keep  steady  and  sane,  you  '11  come  to  where 
you  have  an  influence  with  a  big,  big  I,  and  end  by 
really  counting  for  something  in  the  place  you  've 
chosen.  If  your  harness  galls  you,  then  pad  it  up. 
You  can  make  it  fit,  if  you  spend  a  little  time  on 
it.  But,  if  you  go  restive  and  kick  over  the  traces 
and  bolt,  you  '11  do  a  lot  of  harm,  not  only  to  your 
self,  but  to  the  people  who  '11  go  plunging  after  you, 
without  having  brains  enough  to  know  just  why  they 
do  it.  Yes,  I  know  I  am  preaching;  but  what  of  it? 
I  got  the  habit,  years  ago,"  his  smile  was  strangely 
gentle,  strangely  full  of  such  love  as  is  rarely  given 
by  one  man  to  another ;  "  when  old  Mansfield  put 
you  in  my  care.  No ;  I  know  you  were  n't  aware  of 
it,  but  he  did.  Anyhow,  it  has  given  me  a  sense  of 
responsibility  over  you,  and  I  hate  the  notion  of 
lying  here  on  my  back,  and  seeing  you  preparing 
to  make  a  mess  of  your  whole  life,  at  just  this  stage 
of  the  game." 

"  Thanks,  Opdyke."     Brenton  shut  his  hand  on 


THE    BRENTONS  213 

the  long,  nervous  fingers,  shut  it  and  left  it  there. 
"  But  would  it  be  a  mess?  " 

"  For  the  present,  yes.  Later,  it 's  another  ques 
tion.  You  've  put  yourself  under  fire,  and  you  've 
gone  panicky;  I  know  the  feeling.  I  had  it,  first 
time  I  saw  a  premature  blast  go  off  and  hurt  a  man, 
and  I  nearly  chucked  the  whole  profession  and  went 
into  a  banking  office.  Later,  I  steadied,  found  out 
that  even  an  occasional  killing,"  he  winced  at  his 
own  words,  even  as  he  spoke  them ;  "  does  n't  count 
for  much,  beside  the  good  done  by  the  total  output 
of  a  mine.  Therefore  I  kept  on,  studied  the  mine 
and  shut  my  eyes  to  the  victims.  In  the  end,  I 
steadied,  and  so  will  you.  However,  Scott,"  and  the 
long,  nervous  fingers  shut  hard  about  the  hand  above 
them ;  "  I  am  quite  well  aware  that  the  intermediate 
stage  of  funking  the  side  issue  is  bound  to  give  us 
an  occasional  bad  half-hour.  Still,  as  you  love  your 
profession,  hang  on  to  it  by  the  last  little  corner, 
until  you  steady  down." 

"  Yes."  Brenton  spoke  slowly,  while  there  flashed 
before  him  in  swift  alignment  all  the  details  for 
which  his  profession  stood:  place  and  popularity 
and  influence,  the  best  of  human  and  social  ties, 
the  fulfilled  ambitions,  the  closest  sort  of  contacts 
with  his  kind.  All  these  he  saw,  as  rounded  out 
to  their  fullest  measure.  Beside  them  was  himself, 
outwardly  active,  spiritually  as  stark  and  still  as 
was  the  broken  body  of  his  friend  before  him.  In 
that  instant,  it  was  given  to  Brenton  to  measure 
himself  beside  his  possibilities,  and  the  measure 
was  not  wholly  reassuring.  "  Yes,"  he  repeated 
slowly ;  "  but  what  is  going  to  be  the  final  good 


THE  BRENTONS 

gained  by  my  hanging  on,  in  case  I  never  steady 
down?" 

Reed  compressed  his  lips.  Then,  out  of  his  own 
experience,  he  spoke. 

"  In  that  case,  at  least  you  '11  have  had  the  satis 
faction  of  finding  out  that,  science  and  theology  to 
the  contrary  notwithstanding,  in  the  final  end  it 's 
solely  up  ,to  you." 


CHAPTER    EIGHTEEN 

"  BUT,  really,  she  was  n't  always  so  impossible," 
Olive  argued  above  the  coffee,  that  night. 

"  All  things  are  possible  to  an  open  mind,"  her 
father  rejoined  placidly. 

Olive  changed  her  phrase  for  one  more  downright. 

"  Then,  if  you  must  have  it,  she  was  n't  always 
so  totally  vulgar  as  she  is  now." 

"  Time  always  brings  development,"  Doctor  Kelt- 
ridge  reminded  her  benignly,  while  he  thrashed  about 
in  his  cup  with  a  spoon,  much  as  he  might  have 
wielded  a  glass  rod  in  a  delinquent  mixture.  Then, 
his  spoon  poised  in  mid  air,  he  asked,  with  a  sudden 
show  of  curiosity,  "  On  what  do  you  base  your 
theory,  Olive?" 

Olive's  reply  was  feminine,  and  very  convincing 
to  herself. 

"  Because,  if  she  had  been,  she  never  would  have 
been  asked  out  to  dinner." 

"  Duty,"   Doctor  Keltridge   suggested. 

"  Well,  not  twice  at  the  same  place,  then." 

"  She  does  n't  eat  with  her  knife,"  the  doctor  re 
sponded  hopefully.  "  Therefore  she  must  be  evolving 
just  a  very  little." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 


216  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Because  she  used  to  —  evidently.  That  type 
always  does." 

Olive  laughed. 

"  Father,  I  don't  believe  you  ever  have  really  ad 
mired  Mrs.  Brenton,"  she  said. 

"  No."  The  doctor  spoke  with  slow  decision. 
"  There  is  no  especial  reason  that  I  should.  She 
is  a  totally  brainless  little  cus  —  ' 

"  Father !  " 

The  doctor  shot  one  expressive  glance  at  his  horri 
fied  daughter.  Then,  with  exceeding  deliberation, 
he  continued  his  interrupted  word. 

"  — tomer,  and  her  only  place  in  the  moral  uni 
verse  is  to  act  as  a  leech  on  Brenton's  nervous  system. 
The  worst  of  it  is,  when  her  beneficent  work  is  ended, 
he  '11  find  out  that  he  is  powerless  to  shake  her  off. 
It 's  enough,  the  watching  them,  I  mean,  to  make  one 
believe  in  a  tentative  marriage  system,  at  least  within 
the  rural  districts.  The  bumpkin  comes  up  to  mar 
riageable  age,  and  takes  the  first  —  " 

"  Father !  "  Olive  remonstrated  once  more.  "  Mr. 
Brenton  is  n't  a  bumpkin.  He  never  was." 

"  My  dear,"  the  doctor  set  down  his  empty  cup ; 
"who  mentioned  Brenton,  anyway?  I  was  merely 
talking  about  Brenton's  wife." 

Olive  went  a  step  backward  in  the  conversation. 

"  She  may  not  literally  eat  with  her  knife,"  she 
said ;  "  but,  at  least,  she  does  it  metaphorically, 
and  then,  at  the  end,  she  licks  it.  Yes,  that 's  very 
vulgar ;  but  it  is  true,  and  there  's  nobody  but  you 
to  hear  it.  Listen.  I  have  n't  told  you  the  worst 
yet."  And  Olive  recounted  to  her  father  Kathryn 
Brenton's  catechism  concerning  Opdyke,  her  mani- 


THE    BRENTONS  217 

fest  and  merciless  curiosity,  so  thinly  veiled  behind 
her  avowed  desire  to  administer  consolation. 

When  she  had  finished,  the  doctor  shook  his  wise 
gray  head. 

"  Some  women  are  merely  pussy  cats,  Olive,  and 
some  of  them  are  panthers,"  he  said  gravely.  "  I 
am  glad  you  told  me.  I  '11  put  the  Opdykes  on  their 
guard.  Reed  has  seemed  to  be  gaining  lately;  more 
depends  on  his  nerves  than  those  New  York  butchers 
of  his  are  quite  aware.  I  do  know  it,  because  I  've 
taken  care  of  his  mother  ahead  of  him ;  and  there 
are  some  cases  when  an  old-fashioned  doctor  with 
common  sense  and  a  closet  full  of  family  traditions 
is  worth  a  dozen  modern  surgeons.  Reed  has  been 
doing  a  little  better  lately ;  you  and  Dolph  Den- 
nison,  with  all  your  nonsense,  are  steadying  him 
wonderfully.  But  that  she-gargoyle !  Olive,  she  'd 
have  Reed  in  his  coffin,  inside  of  half  an  hour.  I  '11 
see  that  she  's  kept  out  on  the  steps.  If  she  wants 
to  kill  her  husband,  I  can't  help  it.  She  's  got  her 
grip  on  him.  I  '11  be  hanged,  though,  if  she  gets 
that  nose  of  hers  inside  Reed  Opdyke's  room." 

"  I  wonder,"  Olive  rested  her  elbows  on  the  table, 
and  spoke  down  at  her  interlaced  fingers ;  "  wonder 
why  it  is  we  both  of  us  dislike  her  so." 

"  I  've  been  her  doctor,"  Doctor  Keltridge  ob 
served,  as  if  that  one  fact  were  sufficient  explana 
tion. 

"  But   she  must  have  lucid   intervals." 

"  Precious  few,"  the  doctor  growled.  "  What 's 
worse,  they  are  getting  fewer,  every  week.  If  I  were 
in  Brenton's  place,  I  'd  take  to  drink,  and  use  that 
as  an  excuse  for  beating  her.  He 's  denied  that 


218  THE    BRENTONS 

luxury,  though,  by  what  she  calls  his  cloth.  To 
hear  her  talk,  you  'd  think  we  laymen  dressed  in 
tissue-paper  napkins." 

Olive  disregarded  the  digression. 

"  And  yet,  she  is  n't  really  bad  to  him." 

"  Depends  on  what  you  call  being  really  bad," 
the  doctor  growled  again.  "  Of  course,  she  does  n't 
put  senna  in  his  tea,  nor  take  tucks  in  his  Sunday 
trousers ;  but  she  does  nip  off  the  tips  of  all  his 
best  growths  with  that  temper  of  hers,  or  else  freeze 
them  with  her  lack  of  comprehension.  She 's  a 
pachyderm  and  she  's  a  pig ;  and,  if  she  keeps  on, 
she  '11  drag  her  husband  to  her  level.  Brenton's 
got  yeast  in  him,  Olive,  fine,  lively  yeast.  There 
is  no  telling  what  he  would  rise  to,  if  only  we  could 
succeed  in  abolishing  her." 

"  If  only  she  would  n't  allude  to  him  in  public  as 
His  Reverence !  "  Olive  sighed.  "  It  is  almost  as 
bad  as  her  coy  flirtation  with  him,  during  sermon 
time.  If  I  were  in  his  place,  I  'd  brain  her." 

The  doctor  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table. 

"  You  could  n't,"  he  said  concisely.  "  It 's  not 
according  to  the  laws  of  nature." 

He  started  for  his  laboratory.  A  moment  later, 
he  came  back  again,  his  coat  under  his  arm,  his  hair 
rampant  and  his  tie  already  gloriously  askew. 

"  She  can  '  Reverence  '  him  all  she  wants  to,"  he 
said,  casting  the  words  at  Olive  as  if  they  had  been 
an  iron  projectile;  "but  she  does  n't  care  one  grain 
for  him.  In  fact,  she  only  cares  for  the  materials 
shut  up  inside  her  skin.  She 's  a  monstrosity  of 
selfishness ;  that 's  what  she  is,  no  more  fit  to  be  a 
rector's  wife,  wife  of  a  man  like  Brenton,  than  a  tin 


THE    BRENTOXS  219 

can  of  corned  beef  with  a  crack  in  it.  She  's  poison 
ous,  Olive,  poisonous !  Ptomaines  are  n't  in  it,  by 
comparison.  At  least,  they  're  sudden ;  and  she 
drags  it  out  to  all  infinity.  Poor  Brenton !  "  And, 
with  a  gulp  of  sympathetic  ire,  the  doctor  vanished, 
this  time  to  be  seen  no  more. 

Whatever  were  the  doctor's  forms  of  speech,  his 
facts  were  sound.  Not  in  vain  had  he  been  Scott 
Brenton's  senior  warden,  all  these  months ;  not  in 
vain  Kathryn's  medical  adviser  and  unwilling  con 
fidant,  during  the  recent  weeks  of  her  approach  to 
motherhood.  He  had  learned  to  know  the  fineness 
of  the  man,  the  reverent  housing  he  gave  to  his 
ideals,  the  care  he  lavished  on  their  betterment ;  and 
just  so  surely  he  also  knew  the  sordid  selfishness  of 
the  woman,  her  lack  of  any  ideals  beyond  the  petty 
ones  concerning  food  and  raiment  and  mere  personal 
advancement,  her  ruthless  disregard  of  all  that  re 
lated  to  her  husband's  individual  or  professional 
welfare.  Scott  Brenton  spoke  even  of  his  doubts 
with  a  reverent  reticence.  Kathryn  Brenton  vaunted 
her  supposed  beliefs  in  phrases  which,  even  to  the 
bluff  old  doctor's  ears,  amounted  to  the  extreme  of 
blasphemy.  The  rector,  even  in  the  richness  of  his 
humour,  treated  as  somehow  fine  and  sacred  matters 
of  every-day  routine.  The  rector's  lady  took  the 
very  materials  that  went  into  her  husband's  Sunday 
sermons,  and  used  them  as  themes  for  joking  of  a 
species  which  passed  the  limits  of  the  doctor's  com 
prehension.  To  Scott,  the  very  religion  that  he 
sought  to  question,  was  a  pure  white  lily  reverently 
to  be  placed  beneath  his  microscope.  To  Kathryn, 
it  was  a  red,  red  rose  to  be  worn  flauntingly  upon 


220  THE    BRENTONS 

the  apex  of  her  Sunday  hat.  On  week  days,  she 
was  developing  a  cheap  irreverence  which  never 
could  be  in  danger  of  turning  into  anything  more 
vital.  It  needs  some  brains  and  no  small  amount 
of  reverence  in  any  man,  before  he  can  become  an 
honest  agnostic;  in  both  brains  and  reverence, 
Kathryn  was  supremely  lacking. 

How  far  this  lack  of  reverence  resulted  from  her 
husband's  vacillating  viewpoint,  the  doctor  could 
not  fathom.  More  than  a  little,  he  surmised.  Had 
Brenton  never  wavered  in  his  theology,  Kathryn 
would  have  clung  like  a  limpet  to  the  bed-rock  of 
her  congenital  Baptist  faith.  And  yet,  the  doctor 
could  not  hold  Brenton  altogether  responsible  for 
Kathryn's  development.  The  germs  of  mental 
cheapness  were  in  Kathryn's  nature,  as  were  the 
germs  of  more  or  less  illogical  doubtings  just  as 
surely  inherent  in  Scott  Brenton's  brain.  He  had 
increased  the  tendency,  not  created  it. 

Neither  could  the  doctor  quite  make  up  his  mind 
whether  the  two  of  them  were  conscious  of  the  grow 
ing  gulf  between  them.  To  begin  with,  he  could  not 
decide  whether,  on  their  wedding  day,  there  ever 
had  been  any  real  spiritual  tangency  between  them. 
Reed  said  not ;  but  Reed  had  been  young,  at  the 
time  of  his  earlier  acquaintance  with  them,  and  so 
incapable  of  forming  any  stable  judgment.  Know 
ing  Brenton,  it  seemed  incredible  to  the  doctor  that 
he  could  have  been  so  supinely  idiotic  as  to  have 
allowed  himself,  against  his  will,  to  be  gobbled  up 
by  Kathryn  —  for  it  was  thus  that  Doctor  Eustace 
Keltridge  diagnosed  their  entrance  into  matrimony. 
However,  the  doctor  lacked  some  knowledge  of  the 


THE    BRENTONS  221 

determining  factors  in  the  case.  He  had  no  notion 
how  Kathryn  had  spread  her  net  before  the  idealistic 
young  student  who  was  too  intent  upon  his  personal 
problems,  as  concerned  his  choice  of  a  profession 
and  his  duty  to  his  mother,  to  heed  the  matrimonial 
pitfalls  laid  at  his  unwary  feet. 

However,  that  there  was  a  gulf,  and  that  an  ever- 
widening  one,  between  them  was  a  fact  to  which 
the  keen-sighted  doctor  could  not  blind  himself.  He 
was  seeing  much  of  the  Brentons,  during  these 
winter  weeks.  Kathryn  telephoned  to  him,  almost 
daily,  to  consult  him  about  her  many  ills,  real  or  im 
aginary,  about  every  ill,  in  short,  to  which  feminine 
flesh  was  heir,  from  nervous  palpitations  of  the  heart 
down,  or  up,  to  housemaid's  knee.  The  doctor  longed 
to  give  her  a  downright  piece  of  his  mind.  Instead, 
he  gave  her  unmedicated  sugar  pills  and  as  courteous 
attention  as  he  could  pull  together.  His  old-time  in 
stinctive  dislike  of  Kathryn  was  gathering  point 
and  focus,  in  these  days,  by  reason  of  her  increasing 
references  to  Claims,  and  the  All-Mind,  and  to  the 
fact  that  the  pain  in  a  neglected  tooth  was  only  a 
manifestation  of  cowardly  unbelief.  The  doctor 
scented  mischief  in  the  glib  phrases.  He  held  his 
peace  heroically,  though,  albeit  now  and  then  he 
longed  to  shake  his  babbling  patient  as  the  terrier 
shakes  the  rat. 

Brenton  also  he  saw  constantly.  Indeed,  he  made 
a  point  of  it,  urging  the  young  rector  to  drop  into 
the  laboratory  in  his  few  off-hours,  or  waylaying 
him  in  the  midst  of  a  round  of  pastoral  calls  and 
dragging  him  out  for  a  tramp  across  the  ice-white 
fields.  The  river,  after  a  time  or  two,  he  avoided. 


222  THE    BRENTONS 

He  did  not  like  the  metaphors  which  the  sight  of  it 
called  into  Brenton's  conversation.  Indeed,  it  was 
far  better  for  any  man  to  go  scrabbling  up  an  icy 
slope,  breathless  and  upon  all  fours,  than  to  stand 
in  a  bleak  up-valley  wind  and  meditate  upon  the 
sliding  ice  cakes  in  an  iron-gray  stream.  Health 
and  a  feeling  for  the  picturesque  by  no  means  always 
walk  hand  in  hand ;  and  it  was  health  the  doctor 
sought  for  Brenton,  during  those  winter  walks,  a 
mental  health  that  could  best  be  evoked  from  hard 
bodily  exercise,  rather  than  from  communings  with 
what  Kathryn  glibly  termed  the  Great  All-Mind. 

Between  the  doctor  and  the  increasing  demands 
of  parish  work,  Scott  Brenton  had  very  little  time  to 
spend  at  home.  He  would  have  mourned  for  this  the 
more  acutely,  had  Kathryn  given  any  evidence  of 
mourning  on  her  side.  Kathryn,  however,  was  quite 
too  busy  sewing  on  preposterously  small  and  pre 
posterously  frilly  garments,  quite  too  busy  receiving 
pre-congratulatory  calls  from  the  women  of  the 
parish,  to  have  any  leisure  left  to  bestow  upon  her 
husband.  They  met  at  meals ;  now  and  then  they 
had  an  evening  hour  together,  an  hour  when  the 
chain  of  talk  sagged  heavily,  broke,  and  fell  into  a 
sea  of  silence.  Then  either  Kathryn  wiped  her  eyes 
with  ostentatious  secrecy,  arose  and  went  away  to 
bed;  or  else  Brenton,  after  a  furtive  glance  or  two 
in  the  direction  of  her  head,  bent  down  above  her 
sewing,  stole  out  of  the  room  as  noiselessly  as  he  was 
able  and  betook  himself  to  the  study  where,  often 
and  often,  the  light  burned  almost  till  dawn. 

At  the  table,  it  was  rather  better.  They  could 
offer  each  other  things  to  eat,  and  talk  about  the 


THE    BRENTONS  223 

vagaries  of  the  present  cook  who,  under  the  best 
of  circumstances,  was  bound  to  be  the  past  cook 
within  a  week  or  so.  Scott  could  ask  Kathryn  if 
she  had  seen  the  morning  paper;  Kathryn  could 
ask  Scott  if  he  knew  old  Mrs.  Swan  was  likely  to  die, 
before  the  day  was  at  an  end. 

Of  any  real  talk  about  their  personal  relations 
to  each  other,  of  any  but  the  most  trivial  reference 
to  the  great  responsibility  which  now  loomed  close 
ahead  of  them:  of  this,  there  was  nothing,  nothing 
at  all.  Brenton  would  have  loved  to  talk  about  it, 
to  discuss  it  with  his  wife  in  perfect  frankness,  to 
show  out  to  her  in  some  small  measure  the  over 
whelming  happiness  that  the  outlook  brought  him, 
the  wonderful  and  awful  increase  of  personal  respon 
sibility.  It  would  have  given  him  untold  pleasure  to 
have  gathered  his  wife  into  his  arms,  tight,  tight, 
and  held  her  there  while,  cheek  pressed  to  cheek,  they 
talked  about  the  little  stranger  coming  to  their  home, 
about  the  way  they  best  could  welcome  him,  and 
make  him  happy,  and  bring  out  all  the  best  in  him 
until  his  tiny  person  should  become  a  hallowing  in 
fluence  within  the  home,  a  strengthening  bond  be 
tween  them,  man  and  wife. 

Just  once  he  had  tried  it,  never  afterwards. 
Kathryn  had  laughed  self-consciously,  had  bade  him 
Sh-h-h-h!  Then  she  had  given  him  a  pecking  sort 
of  kiss,  and  had  wriggled  out  of  his  arms.  While 
she  had  rearranged  her  dismantled  pompadour,  sus 
piciously  awry  since  her  husband's  unwonted  caress, 
she  had  explained  quite  carelessly  that  he  need  not 
worry.  Doctor  Keltridge  was  looking  out  for  her, 
and  people  said  he  was  wonderful  in  cases  of  that 


THE    BRENTONS 

kind,  even  if  he  was  a  gruff  old  thing.  The  nurse 
was  all  engaged.  She  was  very  old,  too;  but  people 
said  that  she  was  the  best  in  town.  But,  of  course, 
a  woman  in  her  position  would  have  everything  pos 
sible  done.  Really,  he  need  not  worry  in  the  least. 

Brenton  took  the  lesson  to  his  heart;  but  he  took 
it  hard.  It  seemed  to  him  a  pity  that  all  share  in 
the  great  anticipation,  full  as  it  was  of  mingled  fear 
and  rapture  and  vast,  vast  responsibility,  should  be 
denied  him.  At  the  first,  even  knowing  Kathryn  as 
he  did,  he  had  looked  for  something  else,  had  hoped 
that  their  loosening  ties  would  tighten  under  the 
stress  of  the  coming  crisis.  For  Scott,  beneath  his 
proud  reticence,  his  seeming  blindness  to  the  situa 
tion,  was  painfully  aware  of  the  gradual  severance 
of  interests  between  himself  and  Kathryn.  This  final 
lesson,  though,  rendered  it  unmistakable.  Under  its 
blow,  his  lined,  lean  cheeks  whitened,  his  shoulders 
stooped  a  little  more  than  usual  when,  after  gently 
letting  his  wife  go  from  his  impetuous  embrace,  he 
turned  away  and  sought  his  study.  There,  alone 
among  the  working  tools  of  his  profession,  Scott 
Brenton  first  faced  the  realization  that  the  extrem- 
est  sort  of  separation  is  the  one  that  goes  on  within 
the  same  four  walls. 

Drearily  Brenton  sat  himself  down  in  his  cane- 
bottomed  desk  chair,  shut  his  hands  upon  the  edges 
of  his  blotting  pad  and  stared  the  situation  in  the 
face.  Life,  to  phrase  it  most  unclerically,  was  dis 
tinctly  a  mess.  It  was  going  bad,  going  all  the 
worse,  apparently,  because  of  the  good  intentions 
with  which  he  himself  had  faced  it.  He  really  had 
meant  well.  He  had  chosen  the  profession  on  which 


THE    BRENTONS  225 

his  mother's  hopes  of  happiness  had  been  set.  He 
had  chosen  the  wife  that  she  had  put  in  his  way; 
had  been  loyal  to  that  wife  in  thought,  and  word, 
and  deed.  In  short,  he  had  done  his  crude,  but  level, 
best  to  keep  at  least  two  of  the  ten  commandments, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  less  conscious  struggles  with 
the  others.  And  what  had  happened?  He  and  his 
profession  were  becoming  incompatible.  He  and  his 
wife  were  also  becoming  incompatible.  The  laws  of 
science  demanded  that  he  seek  the  common  factor, 
as  source  of  the  whole  trouble.  Therefore,  he  him 
self  must  be  the  sole  cause  of  the  wretched  bungle 
Fate  was  making  of  his  well-intentioned  life.  Was 
he  so  malevolent,  or  just  futile?  And  which  was 
the  worse  of  the  two  alternatives? 

Anyway,  the  fact  was  that  he  felt  himself  an  out 
cast,  a  negligible  bit  of  driftwood  upon  the  tide  of 
opportunity.  His  profession  had  found  him  a  use 
less  unbeliever.  In  the  end,  it  would  cast  him  out 
completely,  a  tattered  remnant  of  a  soul,  riddled 
with  doubts.  His  wife  would  be  quite  too  well-man 
nered  to  do  anything  so  radical  as  to  cast  him  out; 
but  she  was  finding  him  devoid  of  interest  for  her, 
was  holding  herself  aloof  from  him,  shutting  him 
away  from  any  real  spiritual  intercourse  with  her, 
and  reducing  him  to  the  bread-and-butter  level  of  a 
table-mate  and  nothing  more.  In  the  end,  even,  it 
might  —  Then  Brenton  shook  his  head,  as  he  faced 
the  fact  that,  in  the  end,  it  could  not  possibly  be 
much  worse  than  it  was  getting  to  be  now.  Of 
course,  there  was  publicity  to  be  avoided;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  publicity  would  bring  a  freedom  from 
the  strain  of  smiling  jauntily  at  life,  as  though  noth 
ing  really  were  amiss. 


226  THE    BRENTONS 

For  Brenton  realized  with  a  disconcerting  clear 
ness  that  something  was  amiss,  much,  much  amiss; 
realized,  moreover,  that  he  had  known  it  vaguely  all 
along.  The  trouble,  albeit  still  nameless,  had  been 
there  all  the  time,  from  the  first  day  that  he,  smart 
ing  from  the  impact  of  the  maternal  slipper,  had 
smarted  yet  more  keenly  beneath  the  lash  of  Catie's 
young  disdain.  From  that  time  onward,  whether 
she  was  Catie,  Catia,  or  Kathryn,  her  attitude  had 
been  the  same,  always  disdainful,  always  a  little  un 
comprehending  of  his  point  of  view.  She  had  used 
himself  and  his  profession  as  a  sort  of  social  ladder 
whereby  to  clamber  upward.  Always  she  had  dis 
dained  the  material  of  which  the  ladder  was  con 
structed.  Now  that  she  was  successfully  landed 
upon  the  desired  level  and  needed  its  support  no 
longer,  would  she  kick  it  aside  entirely,  with  one 
flick  of  her  slippered  foot?  As  for  their  marriage: 
what  had  it  really  been?  A  delicately  hand-wrought 
bond  ?  A  machine-made  manacle  ?  Indeed,  the  latter, 
and  unbreakable. 

Brenton  pulled  himself  up  short,  horrified  at  the 
abyss  upon  whose  verge  he  found  himself.  He,  the 
priest,  vowed,  despite  his  honest  doubts,  to  the 
preaching  of  God's  holy  word  and  commandment,  to 
be  applying  questions  such  as  that  to  the  marriage 
ties  between  himself  and  Catie !  For,  quite  uncon 
sciously,  the  swift  revulsion  flung  him  back  upon  the 
use  of  the  old,  almost  forgotten  name. 

No  marriage,  honestly  entered  into,  honestly  lived 
out,  could  be  a  machine-wrought  manacle.  If  it 
seemed  one,  then  the  greater  shame  to  those  who 
wore  it,  the  greater  shame  to  him,  the  husband,  that 


THE    BRENTONS  227 

his  more  crass  nature  could  throw  doubt  upon  the 
fineness  of  the  texture  of  the  bond.  Besides, 
Kathryn  was  his  wife,  his  lawful,  loyal,  albeit  some 
times  uncomprehending,  wife.  That  fact  alone  was 
quite  sufficient.  Beyond  it,  there  was  no  need  to 
probe.  Kathryn  and  he  were  one;  the  sacred  seal 
of  joint  parentage  was  soon  to  be  placed  upon  their 
union,  rendering  it  more  permanent,  more  holy.  If 
they  had  their  trivial  disagreements,  what  then?  It 
was  the  place  of  him,  the  stronger,  the  steadier,  to 
end  them  for  all  time.  Even  while  they  lasted,  he 
was  a  priest  and  bound  to  patient  service,  not  a 
fiction-monger,  like  little  Prather,  nosing  about  in 
every  situation  that  arose,  with  the  faint  hope  of 
picking  up  an  occasional  crumb  of  melodramatic 
copy.  He  was  a  priest,  a  man  not  so  much  of  words 
as  of  holy  life.  And  the  way  to  priestly  holiness  did 
not  lie  along  the  hummocks  of  domestic  squabbles. 

Brenton  lifted  his  head,  shut  his  teeth  a  little 
sidewise,  straightened  his  shoulders,  and  went  in 
search  of  Kathryn. 

But  Kathryn,  going  off  to  bed,  had  locked  her 
door  behind  her.  However,  had  the  priestly  eye 
been  properly  applied  to  the  keyhole,  it  would  have 
made  out  the  reassuring  fact  that  Kathryn,  sleeping, 
showed  the  unruffled  countenance  of  a  contented  babe. 


CHAPTER    NINETEEN 

IN  the  fulness  of  time,  the  Brenton  baby  came,  a 
sturdy  little  youngster  who,  from  the  start,  kicked 
lustily  and  lifted  up  his  voice  out  of  a  pair  of  brazen 
lungs  that  made  the  domestic  welkin  ring.  Kathryn, 
somewhat  weak  and  very  languid,  opened  her  eyes 
listlessly,  when  the  nurse  approached  the  bed,  the 
new-born  heir,  swaddled  and  shrieking,  in  her 
capable  arms. 

"  Here 's  the  baby,  Mrs.  Brenton ! "  she  an 
nounced,  and  there  was  as  much  triumph  in  her  tone 
as  if  it  were  the  first  child  of  her  forty  years'  experi 
ence  in  nursing,  not  the  last. 

"  Thank  you,  nurse.  I  'm  sure  she  's  very  nice. 
And  will  you  please  tell  Mr.  Brenton,"  for  Scott 
still  was  rigidly  barred  out  from  the  room ;  "  that  I 
think  we  '11  name  her  Katharine  —  " 

"  But,  ma'am  —  " 

Imperious  in  spite  of  her  weakness,  Kathryn  ig 
nored  the  attempted  interruption. 

"  —  Katharine,  for  me  and  for  my  grandmother." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Brenton,  it 's  a  boy." 

Kathryn  gave  a   start  of  indignation. 

"  Nurse,  how  stupid !  Of  course,  it  is  a  little 
girl." 

But  the  nurse  responded  stolidly,  — 


THE    BRENTONS  229 

"  It  aint,  though ;    it 's  a  boy." 

Kathryn's  eyes  drooped  wearily. 

"  Well,  never  mind  about  that  now.  There  must 
be  some  mistake,  though,  for  my  heart  was  set  on 
having  a  little  girl.  Anyway,  you  can  tell  Mr. 
Brenton  it 's  all  right.  And  now,  nurse,  I  think  I  '11 
try  to  take  a  nap." 

"  And  shall  I  leave  the  baby,  ma'am  ?  " 

Kathryn,  already  settling  her  cheek  upon  her  hand, 
stirred  wearily. 

"  Certainly  not,  nurse,  if  he  's  going  to  cry  like 
that,"  she  said,  with  querulous  decision. 

That  was  late  at  night.  Next  morning,  she 
aroused  herself  to  some  slight  show  of  interest  as 
concerned  the  child. 

"  It 's  such  a  disappointment  to  have  him  a  boy," 
she  still  lamented.  "  Boys'  clothes  are  so  very  ugly. 
However,"  lifting  herself  up  upon  her  elbow,  she 
stared  down  at  the  puckered  face  in  the  nest  of  soft 
white  flannel ;  then  she  fell  back  again  with  a  little 
shiver  of  disgust ;  "  for  the  matter  of  that,  nurse, 
he  's  very  ugly,  too." 

This  time,  the  nurse  felt  herself  justified  in  in 
dignant  remonstrance.  Indeed,  in  all  her  forty 
years  of  nursing,  she  never  had  been  in  contact  with 
a  mother  who  was  so  unappreciative. 

"  Ugly,  Mrs.  Brenton ! "  Her  voice  gathered 
force  and  fervour,  as  she  went  on.  "  How  can  you 
say  so?  He's  a  puffic'  fibbous." 

This  time,  however,  the  nurse's  zeal  outran  discre 
tion.  "  Fibbous  "  or  no,  the  baby  certainly  was  red  to 
a  fault,  his  infant  brow  was  crowned  with  a  rampant 
thatch  of  jet  black  hair,  and  no  nonagenarian  ever 


230  THE    BRENTONS 

was  one  half  so  wrinkled  as  this  small  stranger  in  the 
halls  of  time.  Even  Scott  Brenton,  his  heart  thrill 
ing  and  throbbing  with  the  fearful  new  joys  of  his 
paternity,  experienced  an  unmistakable  chill,  when 
first  he  gazed  upon  the  countenance  of  his  new-born 
son.  Of  course,  he  must  be  beautiful.  Every  young 
baby  is  that,  ex  officio.  Nevertheless,  Scott  Brenton, 
looking  at  him,  was  fully  conscious  that  he  would 
become  yet  more  beautiful,  once  he  had  been  bleached 
a  little,  to  say  nothing  of  having  had  some  of  the 
puckers  straightened  out.  And,  besides,  he  was  so 
curiously  invertebrate,  had  such  a  tendency  to  coil 
himself  to  the  likeness  of  a  shrimp.  In  time,  beyond 
a  doubt,  he  would  come  out  all  right.  For  the 
present  moment,  though,  he  was  a  trifle  problematic 
in  his  attractions. 

"  What  shall  we  call  him,  Catie?  "  Scott  asked  her 
gently,  the  second  night  after  the  boy  was  born. 

Her  frown  was  petulant. 

"  Catie !  "  she  echoed.  "  Why  can't  you  call  me 
Katharine,  Scott?  It  is  so  much  more  dignified  than 
that  old  baby  name.  I  'd  meant  to  call  our  baby  by 
it,  really  call  her  by  it,  not  by  some  uncouth  nick 
name.  Yes.  I  know  I  was  baptised  Catie;  but  so 
you  were  baptised  Walter.  We  both  of  us,  you  see, 
have  something  to  forget.  Any  way,  I  am  determined 
to  save  the  baby  so  much,  so  I  want  to  take  plenty 
of  time  to  choose  a  good  name  for  him.  There  's 
no  hurry,  for  the  present."  She  was  silent,  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  added,  with  rare  tact,  "  I  do  so 
hope  that,  in  course  of  time,  he  will  improve  a  little 
in  his  looks.  Nurse  says  that  now  he  is  just  the 
image  of  you.  No,  nurse.  I  don't  believe  I  want 


THE    BRENTONS  231 

him  in  here.  Really,  he  does  make  the  bed  very 
warm." 

Indeed,  from  the  first  hour  of  his  advent,  that 
was  her  attitude  towards  the  baby  boy.  As  a  piece 
of  her  own  property,  she  tolerated  him ;  she  assumed 
it,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  in  herself  alone  should 
be  vested  all  rights  of  dictatorship  over  him.  But 
when,  in  any  way,  he  interfered  with  her  personal 
comfort,  she  handed  him  over  to  the  safe  keeping  of 
his  nurse.  And  the  nurse  received  him  with  a 
gratitude  unblunted  by  her  forty  years'  experience 
of  similar  babies.  She  coddled  him,  and  dandled 
him,  and  rubbed  his  little  backbone,  and  whispered 
into  his  disregarding  ears  over  and  over  again  that 
he  was  a  itty-bitty  puffic'  fibbous,  whatever  that 
mamma  of  his  might  think  about  it.  He  was  a 
puffic'  fibbous ;  and  she  knew. 

Despite  what  seemed  to  Brenton  the  exceeding 
ugliness  of  his  small  son,  he  took  an  infinite  delight 
in  his  society.  From  the  first  day  on,  he  persecuted 
the  nurse  with  inquiries  as  to  the  child's  condition, 
persecuted  her,  too,  with  insistent  offers  of  help  in 
administering  to  the  baby  needs.  By  the  half-hour 
at  a  time,  the  rector  of  Saint  Peter's,  leaving  his 
parish  in  the  hands  of  the  new  curate  whose  advent 
had  been  simultaneous  with  that  of  the  baby  boy, 
hung  above  the  frilly  basket  in  which  his  small  son 
either  lay  in  a  placid  doze,  or  else  contorted  himself 
and  shrieked  discordantly. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  Brenton,  a  red-letter  day, 
when  first  the  child  was  laid  across  his  blanket- 
covered  knees,  while  the  nurse  stood  by,  uttering 
many  cautions  and  forcibly  adjusting  the  angles  of 


232  THE    BRENTONS 

the  clerical  elbows,  the  better  to  support  their  tiny 
burden.  Then  she  backed  off,  and  stood  gazing  down 
upon  the  two  of  them  adoringly. 

"A  puffic'  fibbous ! "  she  ejaculated.  "And, 
what 's  more,  the  puffic'  image  of  his  popper !  " 

But,  by  this  time,  Scott  Brenton  felt  no  chill  at 
the  suggestion  of  the  likeness  of  this  pink  and  curly 
little  being  to  himself.  The  baby  was  four  days  old ; 
already  he  seemed  to  Brenton  to  have  curled  his  rosy 
little  self  into  his  father's  inmost  heart.  Already, 
too,  the  father  was  learning  the  mingled  joy  and 
pain  of  looking  towards  the  future:  the  joy  of 
anticipating  all  that  his  boy  might  become,  the  pain 
of  knowing  how  fast  and  how  irrevocably  the  baby 
days  were  passing  on.  He  longed  to  see  his  child  a 
full-grown  man,  a  happier,  better  man  than  he  him 
self  had  ever  been.  He  also  longed  to  hold  fast  to 
each  one  of  the  hours  of  babyhood,  to  keep  them 
from  slipping  out  from  actual  existence  into  the 
vague  horizon  of  more  or  less  distant  memory. 

And  then,  one  day,  a  new  thought  struck  him. 
What  if,  in  time,  the  child  slipped,  too?  That  night, 
he  walked  the  study  floor  till  dawn.  Next  day,  he 
went  to  see  Professor  Opdyke  in  his  private  labora 
tory.  All  this  time,  he  had  been  lavishing  his  entire 
stock  of  pity  upon  Reed.  He  knew  better  now,  saw 
things  by  far  more  clearly.  The  almost  impercep 
tible  weight  across  his  blanket-covered  knees  had  been 
enough  to  open  a  new  vein  of  understanding,  a  dawn 
ing  realization  of  just  what  it  was  that  the  past 
year  had  brought  to  Professor  Opdyke,  as  much, 
indeed,  as  to  Reed,  his  son.  He  went  to  see  Pro 
fessor  Opdyke  and,  after  blundering  through  the 


THE    BRENTONS  233 

inevitable  vague  preliminaries,  he  came  directly  to 
the  point  and,  out  of  his  six  days'  experience  of 
fatherhood,  he  gave  to  the  professor  a  sympathetic 
comfort  hitherto  denied  him. 

It  was  the  first  of  many  similar  lessons  Brenton 
received  from  the  warm  contact  of  the  shrimp-like 
bundle  on  his  knees,  the  first  and  therefore  memor 
able.  It  was  also  memorable  for  quite  another  rea 
son:  the  renewal  of  his  intimacy  with  the  professor 
and  the  private  laboratory. 

Of  late,  this  intimacy  had  been  dropping  out  of 
sight  a  little.  Whatever  time  that  Brenton  took  for 
visiting  the  Opdykes,  quite  as  a  matter  of  course  he 
had  been  lavishing  on  Reed.  It  never  had  occurred 
to  him  till  now  that,  quite  as  much  as  Reed,  Reed's 
father  might  be  needing  the  tonic  of  outside  visita 
tions,  the  stimulus  of  contacts  alien  to  his  daily 
cares,  the  sympathetic  comradeship  of  an  individual 
able  to  arouse  him  from  the  alternate  contemplation 
of  his  official  duties  at  the  college  and  of  the  sombre 
cloud  hanging  above  his  home.  All  at  once,  it  came 
to  Brenton  that  the  professor  himself  might  also  be 
a  candidate  for  sympathy,  a  grateful  recipient  of 
diverting  conversations  which  did  not  focus  them 
selves  entirely  upon  Reed.  The  first  experimental 
visit  to  the  private  laboratory  proved  to  be  such 
an  entire  success  that  others  followed  it  until,  by 
degrees,  Brenton  slid  back  into  his  old  fashion  of 
spending  many  of  his  odd  hours  among  the  balances 
and  test-tubes,  among  the  old,  familiar  sights,  the 
smells  so  wholly  unforgettable. 

At  any  other  time,  under  any  other  circumstances, 
the  spell  of  the  place  would  not  have  been  one  half 


234  THE    BRENTONS 

so  potent.  Now,  in  the  intimacy  evoked  by  hour- 
long  discussions  of  their  sons'  possible  futures,  the 
professor  was  coming  to  take  a  dominant  place  in 
Brenton's  life.  After  preaching  what  he  felt  to  be 
unprovable  futilities,  it  was  no  small  satisfaction 
to  Brenton  to  come  into  contact  with  a  man  whose 
sane  and  practical  working  creed  was  supported  by 
a  perfect  trestlework  of  interlocking  equations  based, 
in  their  turn,  on  fundamental  and  well-proved  natural 
laws.  After  attributing  the  erratic  courses  of  hu 
manity  to  the  caprices  of  an  all-wise,  but  slightly 
captious,  Creator,  it  was  very  good  to  sit  and  discuss 
them  with  a  comrade  who  insisted  upon  reducing  them 
all  to  rule  and  order,  who  declared,  and  also  proved 
past  all  gainsaying,  that  nothing  ever  really  hap 
pened,  that  the  very  thing  which  man  calls  chance 
is  only  another  name  for  his  blindness  to  some  link 
connecting  the  event  and  cause.  Even  the  shrimp- 
like  propensities  of  his  small  son.  Even  the  flat,  flat 
figure  stretched  out  on  the  couch,  up-stairs  at  home. 
The  Creator  did  not  do  just  the  thing  itself,  in  sheer 
and  potent  wantonness.  He  merely  laid  down  the 
laws.  One  followed  them  implicitly ;  or  else,  like 
every  law-breaker,  got  punished. 

And  the  look  of  the  place ;  the  old,  old  fascinating 
reek  of  it ;  the  click  of  glass  on  glass ;  the  whirring 
flare  of  freshly-lighted  Bunsen  burners !  In  vain 
Brenton  tried  his  best  to  deaden  his  senses  to  the  lure 
of  it;  but  it  was  of  no  use.  The  charm  was  in  his 
blood;  it  would  not  down.  The  smell  of  hydrogen 
sulphide  was  dearer  to  him  than  any  incense;  his 
fingers  shut  upon  the  test-tubes  with  a  greedier  clutch 
than  any  they  had  ever  given  to  The  Book  of  Com- 


THE    BRENTONS  235 

mon  Prayer.  And  yet,  by  some  curious  mental  proc 
ess,  that  book  of  prayer,  its  age-old  liturgies,  never 
rang  more  sonorous  in  his  mind  than  when  they 
echoed  in  his  ears  above  the  whirring  of  the  Bunsen 
burners.  Science  was  his  passion,  not  theology;  but 
science  aroused  in  him  a  spirit  of  reverential  worship 
for  his  Creator  as  mere  theology  had  never  done. 
He  caught  himself,  one  day,  even,  with  his  eyes  glued 
fast  to  the  professor's  deft  manipulations,  while  he 
himself  was  saying,  half  aloud,  — 

"  The  Lord  is  in  His  holy  temple."  And  then, 
next  in  line,  "  When  man  doeth  that  which  is  lawful, 
he  shall  save  his  soul  alive." 

Law  everywhere!  And  then,  quite  as  a  corollary, 
life !  But  how  dared  he,  how  dared  any  man,  preach 
from  a  pulpit,  when  it  was  given  to  him  to  toil  in  a 
laboratory,  instead?  Which  was  the  greater  rever 
ence:  to  exploit  one's  own  belief;  or,  open-minded, 
to  be  searching  for  a  clearer  outlook  upon  truth? 
And  so,  bit  by  bit,  the  lure  of  the  laboratory  beckoned 
to  Scott  Brenton,  just  as,  bit  by  bit,  his  wife  and 
his  profession  lost  their  hold  upon  him ;  lost  it,  to 
his  regret,  lost  it  by  their  own  failure  to  supply  his 
highest  needs.  As  to  the  laboratory  itself  and  all  it 
offered,  it  was  no  mean  achievement  for  it  to  make 
good  to  Brenton  all  the  other  lacks,  whether  in  his 
professional  career,  or  in  his  wife  herself.  Indeed, 
he  turned  to  science,  his  first  great  love,  as  some  other 
men  might  have  turned  to  the  wooing  society  of  a 
stage  soubrette.  As  the  weeks  went  on,  and  the  ten 
tacles  of  his  priesthood,  coming  into  contact  with 
his  doubts  and  failing  to  penetrate  them,  by  slow 
degrees  relaxed  their  grip  on  him,  by  those  same 


236  THE    BRENTONS 

slow  degrees,  he  felt  his  manhood  yielding  to  the 
insistent  demands  of  nature's  law  upon  her  votaries. 
As  yet,  however,  he  had  no  realization  that  now  the 
ultimate  result  was  but  a  matter  of  time.  Professor 
Opdyke  realized  it,  though,  quite  clearly;  and  he 
laid  his  plans  accordingly. 

Meanwhile,  between  the  insistent  interests  that  cen 
tred  in  his  son,  and  the  persistent  efforts  of  the 
professor  to  make  good  all  other  lacks,  Scott 
Brenton  was  finding  life  a  saner  and  a  happier  thing 
than  he  had  ever  dreamed.  Even  his  doubtings 
almost  ceased  to  sting  him,  nowadays.  A  Creator 
whose  achievements  ran  throughout  the  gamut  from 
the  actions  of  a  bit  of  sodium  flung  into  a  dish  of 
water,  up  to  the  intricate  brain  processes  of  a  baby 
just  beginning,  as  the  phrase  is,  to  take  notice: 
surely  a  Creator  capable  of  that  was  not  likely  to 
bungle  His  plans  and  be  driven  to  reconstruct  them 
now  and  then,  either  by  miraculous  intervention,  or 
by  thrusting  a  brake  between  the  cogs  of  the  revolv 
ing  wheels  of  everlasting  law.  If  the  baby  boy  ab 
sorbed  the  contents  of  his  bottle  too  fast  for  his 
good,  he  had  a  wholly  consequent  stomach  ache.  If 
Reed  Opdyke  tried  conclusions  with  black  powder  and 
with  lumps  of  loosened  rock,  he  was  laid  on  his  back, 
with  uncompromising  promptness.  In  neither  case 
was  there  a  question  of  bringing  distress  upon  the 
children  of  men,  willingly  or  unwillingly.  They 
brought  it  on  themselves ;  theirs  was  the  fault.  As 
well  blame  a  railway  engine  for  running  over  the 
well-meaning  individual  who  lies  down  on  the  track 
to  rest  and  meditate  on  higher  things,  as  blame  the 
natural  law  with  which  men  tamper.  The  All- Wise 


THE    BRENTONS  237 

shows  His  goodness  to  His  creatures  in  that  He  has 
laid  down  law  of  any  sort,  not  left  the  universe  to 
chance  and  wilful  freakishness.  As  for  gospel,  the 
essential  thing  to  preach  was  the  duty  of  living  ac 
cording  to  the  law.  After  all,  it  was  living,  not 
belief,  that  counted  in  the  end  of  everything. 

And,  all  that  spring  and  early  summer,  it  was  liv 
ing  that  Scott  Brenton  preached.  He  left  to  his 
new  curate  all  the  insisting  upon  proper  points  of 
doctrine.  He  himself  took  as  his  sole  concern  the 
thing  he  felt  most  vital,  life  itself.  And,  as  the 
weeks  went  on,  perchance  in  consonance  with  his  new 
doctrine  concerning  man's  grip  on  life  eternal,  per 
chance  by  reason  of  his  greater  enjoyment  of  life 
temporal,  Brenton  grew  stronger,  infinitely  more 
alert,  infinitely  more  virile  in  his  magnetism.  The 
old,  limp  husk,  partly  of  heredity,  in  part  of  starved 
existence,  was  falling  off  from  him.  More  and  more 
plainly,  as  it  fell,  there  stood  revealed  to  all  who 
had  the  eyes  to  see,  the  nervous  figure  of  the  man 
within. 

Even  Katharine  felt  the  change  instinctively,  al 
though,  nowadays,  she  was  too  absorbed  in  realizing 
her  identity  with  the  All-Mind,  with  proving  that 
suffering  was  nothing  in  the  world  but  absent-minded 
sin,  to  pay  any  great  attention  to  so  concrete  a 
matter  as  her  husband's  improved  appetite  and  better 
sleep.  Katharine,  by  now,  had  come  to  the  point 
where  she  was  beginning  to  dispense  with  the  ser 
vices  of  Doctor  Keltridge  in  any  minor  crisis ;  and, 
instead,  to  sit  and  meditate  upon  the  crisis,  with  a 
black-bound,  fine-print,  much-begilded  volume  open 
on  her  knee.  As  always,  Katharine  reckoned 


238  THE    BRENTOXS 

shrewdly.  If  an  ordinary  five-dollar  copy  of  her  new 
spiritual  check-book  upon  the  bank  of  health  were 
potent  to  subdue  any  sort  of  pains  from  indigestion 
to  a  raging  tooth,  then  a  ten-dollar  binding  super- 
added  ought,  of  a  surety,  to  be  able  to  cope  with 
tuberculosis  or  the  hookworm.  Therefore  she  had 
chosen  to  fortify  herself  once  and  for  all. 

Meanwhile,  the  little  table  beside  her  bed-head  was 
fast  heaping  itself  with  small  books  of  devotion,  books 
from  which  the  old-time  cross  was  conspicuously  ab 
sent.  At  present,  it  was  taxing  all  her  ingenuity, 
all  the  fervour  of  her  new  belief,  to  make  its  tenets 
tally  with  her  young  son's  attitude  concerning  colic, 
doubtless  because,  at  some  point  or  other,  he  had 
escaped  from  perfect  contact  with  the  All-Mind,  the 
Healer.  Some  noxious  claim  or  other  still  held  good 
over  him,  despite  her  efforts  to  eradicate  its  malig 
nant  influence.  It  was  disappointing.  Still,  as  yet 
she  was  merely  a  novice  in  the  great  order  of  the 
new  religion;  and  she  only  wondered  at  the  swift 
hold  her  untrained  mind  had  gained  upon  the  pliant 
body  of  her  husband. 

Katharine  smiled  contentedly  above  her  open 
book.  Strange  that  she  ever  could  have  cherished 
the  false  notion  that  she  and  Scott  were  alien  in  their 
natures!  Rather  not!  They  both  were  ultra-scien 
tific,  fundamentally  alike.  As  yet,  of  course,  Scott 
did  not  spell  his  science  with  an  X;  but  that  was 
bound  to  come.  How  could  it  be  otherwise,  indeed, 
when  his  mere  carnal  appetite  for  bacon  and  dry 
toast  had  multiplied  itself  by  ten,  as  result  of  her 
devotion  to  the  book  now  lying  open  on  her  knee? 
It  would  be  so  very  good,  when  she  had  brought  her 


THE    BRENTONS  239 

own  husband  to  her  way  of  thinking.  For  Scott 
was  still  her  husband,  still  in  a  sense  her  property ; 
therefore  he  still  was  dear  to  her,  after  her  selfish 
fashion.  His  acceptance  of  her  standards  would  be 
infinitely  good;  infinitely  better  would  be  the  knowl 
edge  that  she  herself  had  converted  him  to  their  ac 
ceptation.  And  after  Scott? 

Katharine's  prominent  and  shallow  eyes  grew  hazy 
with  the  greatness  of  her  thoughts,  the  while  she 
meditated  upon  the  wider  field  of  labour  offered  her 
in  the  person  of  Reed  Opdyke.  Glorious  indeed 
would  be  the  conversion  and  the  consequent  cure  of 
a  desperate  case  like  that !  It  would  be  a  brilliant 
vindication  of  her  science  from  the  slanders  of  that 
decreasing  number  who  persisted  in  ignoring  the 
prefatory  X. 

Katharine's  eyes  grew  yet  more  dreamy,  above  the 
open  pages  of  her  book.  If  courage  were  only  hers, 
and  patience,  it  all  would  come  to  her  in  the  ful 
ness  of  time. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY 

THE  new  curate,  meanwhile,  was  having,  in  vulgar 
parlance,  the  time  of  his  whole  life.  He  was  young, 
ritualistic,  and  he  had  a  tendency  towards  being 
lungish.  Therefore  his  devoutness  was  excessive. 
His  rector,  moreover,  had  a  trick  of  preaching  upon 
the  practical  issues  of  the  day,  while  he  left  to  his 
assistant  the  driving  home  the  points  of  doctrine. 
And  the  assistant  did  drive  them  home  most  lustily 
and  with  resounding  whacks,  until  the  sedate  walls 
of  old  Saint  Peter's  echoed  with  the  blows,  and  the 
congregations  gathered  in  old  Saint  Peter's  danced 
with  the  pain  of  the  prickings.  The  mere  presence 
of  a  pin  is  not  sufficient  to  produce  any  callousness 
of  mind  or  body.  Saint  Peter's  had  never  doubted 
the  force  or  the  efficiency  of  its  doctrines ;  but  it 
was  at  least  a  generation  since  it  had  been  so  rowelled 
with  their  points. 

One  such  rowelling  had  just  been  taking  place 
when,  on  the  Sunday  morning  following  the  Easter 
holidays,  Dolph  Dennison  dropped  in  to  see  Reed 
Opdyke.  As  he  more  than  half  expected,  he  found 
Olive  Keltridge  there  ahead  of  him,  and  it  was  upon 
Olive  Keltridge  that,  after  a  most  unceremonious 
greeting  to  his  host,  Dolph  turned  the  fire  of  his 
interrogation. 


THE    BRENTONS 

"  Who  is  the  expensive-looking  gentleman  in  the 
bunny  hood,  Olive,  the  one  that  sat  back  in  the 
corner  and  kept  tabs  on  Brenton's  reading  of  the 
lessons  ?  " 

Olive  laughed  at  the  undeniable  accuracy  of  the 
description. 

"  That 's  the  new  curate,  Dolph.  You  must  have 
seen  him  before." 

"Not,"  Dolph  responded  briefly.  "It  wouldn't 
be  possible  to  forget  him.  What's  he  for?  Orna 
ment?  I  must  say,  Saint  Peter's  is  getting  frilly 
in  its  hoary  age,  and  frills  like  that  come  dear." 

"  Not  so  dear  as  he  looks,"  Olive  reassured  him. 
"  In  reality,  he  comes  cheap.  He  is  just  up  from 
nervous  prostration  and  ordered  to  a  more  relaxing 
climate,  so  we  got  him  at  a  bargain." 

"Damaged  goods.  I  see.  Seen  him,  Opdyke? 
Hood  and  all  —  it 's  of  white  bunny  —  he  looks  like 
the  tag-end  of  an  importer's  mark-down  sale,  and 
his  idioms  match  the  rest  of  him.  Where  'd  they  get 
him,  Olive?  Not  your  father?" 

"  My  father  did  n't  get  him,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean,  Dolph.  Mr.  Prather,  I  believe  it  was,  who 
recommended  him." 

"  Prather  for  all  the  world !  Just  like  the  man ; 
he  is  always  on  the  still  hunt  for  something  a  little 
bit  exotic.  Next  thing  we  know,  we  '11  be  having  the 
reverend  gentleman  served  up  to  us  in  a  novel.  But 
why  the  bunny?  It  is  no  end  unmerciful,  a  day  like 
this,  as  hot  as  ermine,  and  without  any  of  the  glory." 

"What  does  a  curate  do?"  Reed  queried.  "Be 
sides  putting  on  the  hood,  I  mean,  and  lugging  round 
the  cakes  for  tea,  in  English  novels." 


242  THE    BRENTONS 

"  This  one  leads  all  the  responses,  and  sometimes 
he  leads  them  a  little  bit  ahead  of  time,"  Dolph  en 
lightened  him.  "  Besides  that,  he  keeps  his  lean  fore 
finger  on  the  word  that  Brenton  happens  to  be 
reading,  ready  to  help  him  out  on  the  pronunciation, 
if  it  is  necessary.  Between  whiles,  he  counts  up  the 
congregation  and  divides  it  by  ten,  to  make  sure 
that  he  gets  the  right  amount  of  offertory.  Really, 
he  works  hard." 

"  You  might  also  mention  that  he  preaches,"  Olive 
added. 

Dolph  chuckled. 

"  I  was  n't  sure  that 's  what  you  'd  call  it.  It 
seemed  to  me  a  long  way  more  like  administering  a 
verbal  spanking.  Is  that  his  chronic  method,  Olive?  " 

But  Reed  cut  in. 

"  I  can  testify  on  that  score.  Sometimes  he  is 
only  tenderly  regretful,  and  that  is  any  amount 
worse.  He  came  prowling  in,  one  day;  I  suppose 
he  thought  it  ought  to  be  his  proper  function,  and 
the  maid  took  fright  at  his  canonicals  and  let  him 
up.  Usually  she  heads  off  strangers ;  but  this  fellow 
was  too  much  for  her." 

"And  you  let  him  stay?"  Dolph's  voice  was 
incredulous. 

"  What  could  I  do  ?  I  could  n't  very  well  arise 
and  escort  him  to  the  door ;  neither  could  I  fling  a 
boot  at  him,  when  he  came  in.  No ;  I  told  him  I  was 
very  well,  I  thanked  him  —  in  reality,  it  was  one  of 
my  grilling  days  —  and  then,  as  soon  as  I  heard  his 
accent,  I  had  the  brilliant  inspiration  of  shouting 
to  the  maid  to  bring  some  tea.  The  creature  poured 
it  for  himself,  with  any  amount  of  cream.  Then  he 


THE    BRENTONS  243 

sat  down,  with  his  toes  turned  in,  and  took  his  cup 
on  his  right  knee  and  prepared  to  make  merry." 

"  And  you  joined  in?  " 

"  Sotto  voce,  as  it  were."  Reed  laughed  at  the 
memory.  "  You  see,  I  had  to  be  properly  lugubri 
ous,  to  tally  up  to  his  impressions  of  what  I  ought 
to  be.  He  had  been  here  just  a  week,  then,  and  he 
had  me  down  pat.  Somebody  must  have  coached 
him  grandly,  and  he  's  the  sort  who  revels  in  woe 
and  in  consequent  and  ghostly  consolation." 

Olive's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  view  outside  the 
window. 

"  Poor  old  Reed !     And  then?" 

"Then?"  Opdyke  shot  her  a  glance  of  merry 
mockery.  "  That  night,  after  he  had  trundled  me 
off  to  bed,  Ramsdell  stood  and  gazed  down  at  me 
with  a  new  respect.  *  I  must  say,  Mr.  Hopdyke,'  he 
told  me ;  *  you  'ave  been  in  grand  form,  hall  this 
evening.  I  never  'card  you  do  any  finer  swearing  in 
hall  the  time  I  've  been  with  you.' ' 

"  And  that  comes  of  a  moral  influence !  "  Dolph 
laughed.  "  If  that 's  the  way  he  is  going  to  affect 
sinners,  Brenton  will  have  his  hands  full,  following 
up  his  curate's  trail." 

"  Brenton  is  of  different  stuff,"  Reed  made  crispy 
comment. 

"  Have  you  noticed  the  change  in  Mr.  Brenton 
since  the  baby  came,  Reed?  "  Olive  inquired  abruptly. 

"  I  've  hardly  seen  him.  From  all  accounts,  he  is 
devoting  most  of  his  spare  time  to  my  father.  What 
is  the  baby  like,  Olive?" 

"  Ugly  as  sin ;  but  Mr.  Brenton  believes  him  an 
Adonis." 


244  THE    BRENTONS 

"  What  about  the  mother?  " 

"  Eddyizing  fast." 

"  What  ?  "  The  word  burst  simultaneously  from 
both  the  men. 

"  Did  n't  you  know?  Yes,  it  is  a  malignant  case. 
I  only  hope  it  won't  go  round  the  family." 

"  Babies  are  holy,  and  therefore  immune ;  Bren- 
ton  has  too  much  sense.  But  is  it  a  fact,  Olive?" 
Opdyke  questioned. 

"  It  evidently  is  a  fact  that  you  are  a  poor,  shut-in 
invalid,  and  not  brought  up  to  date  in  local  gossip," 
Olive  told  him  tranquilly.  "  I  can't  see  how  you 
have  missed  hearing  of  it,  Reed,  even  if  it  did  escape 
my  mind.  Yes,  it  seems  to  be  a  fact  that  everybody 
is  questioning  and  nobody  is  disputing.  Of  course, 
though,  nobody  is  in  a  position  to  testify  absolutely." 

"Your  father?" 

"  She  has  dismissed  him.  At  least,"  and  Olive 
corrected  herself  with  ostentatious  care ;  "  she  says 
that  her  health  no  longer  needs  him,  although  she 
always  shall  value  him  greatly  as  a  well-tried 
friend." 

Opdyke  pondered.     Then  he  said,  — 

"  The  d  —  " 

"  Arling !  "  Dolph  made  hasty  substitution.  "  But 
I  fancy  he  is  well-tried,  all  right,  if  he  has  had  to 
dance  professional  attendance  on  her.  Where  'd  she 
catch  it,  Olive?" 

"  Nobody  knows.  My  father  says  it  is  like  any 
other  germ,  floats  around  in  the  air  and  is  harmless, 
until  it  lights  on  some  degenerate  tissue.  But  then, 
he  never  did  like  Mrs.  Brenton." 

"  The  question  is,"  Dolph  said,  with  sudden  grav- 


THE    BREXTONS  245 

ity;  "will  Brenton  get  it?  I'd  rather  he'd  be 
afflicted  with  curacy  than  with  this  other  thing." 

"  Curacy?  "  Olive  questioned.     "  What 's  that?  " 

"  Acting  like  this  curate  chap,  and  giving  his  con 
gregation  red-hot  pap  for  their  Sabbatic  food.  At 
least,  that 's  curable ;  the  other  is  n't." 

But  Reed  shook  his  head.  Despite  his  unvarying 
point  of  view,  he  knew  Scott  Brenton  better. 

"  You  don't  need  to  worry  about  Brenton,"  he 
assured  them.  "  He  has  some  common  sense  and  a 
little  logic;  both  things  render  him  immune." 

Dolph  settled  back  in  his  chair  and  crossed  his 
legs. 

"  Yes,  Olive,  I  intend  to  outstay  you,"  he  said, 
in  answer  to  her  glance.  "  You  were  here  first ; 
it 's  your  turn  to  go  now.  But  about  this  latest 
freak  of  Mrs.  Brenton:  where  do  you  suppose  she 
picked  it  up  ?  " 

"  Evolved  it  from  within." 

"  Doubted.  I  've  talked  to  her,  Opdyke ;  she  's 
not  the  kind  to  evolve  anything,  certainly  not  a  full- 
fledged  case  of  —  " 

Olive  interrupted. 

"  There  is  some  good  in  it,  though,"  she  persisted. 

"Where?"  Opdyke  asked  her. 

"  The  complexion ;  it 's  better  than  any  amount 
of  massage.  One  never  wrinkles,  when  one  is  con 
vinced  that  nothing  can  go  wrong." 

"  What  about  measles  ?  "  Dolph  demanded  pertly. 

But  Reed  objected  to  the  trivial  interlude. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  how  Brenton  really  would  be  tak 
ing  it,"  he  said,  rather  more  insistently  than  it  was 
his  wont  to  speak.  "  The  poor  beggar  has  had  bad 


246  THE    BRENTONS 

times  lately  with  his  Ego ;  always  has  had,  in  fact. 
He  has  an  enormous  conscience,  linked  with  an  in 
satiate  desire  to  put  the  whole  universe  under  a  blow 
pipe,  and  then  weigh  up  the  residue.  That 's  in 
fernally  bad  for  a  preacher,  especially  when  he  has 
a  wife  who  is  strong  neither  in  her  cooking  nor  in 
her  sense  of  humour.  Yes,  I  know  something  about 
Mrs.  Brenton,  even  if  I  have  n't  seen  her  lately. 
Besides,  I  shall  see  her,  some  day.  She  is  still 
clamouring  at  my  portal ;  it  's  only  a  matter  of 
time  now,  before  she  downs  the  outer  guards  and 
gets  in." 

"  Reed,  you  won't  allow  it !  "  Olive  said  quickly, 
for  she  thought  she  was  aware  what  such  a  call 
portended. 

Opdyke's  smile  was  grim. 

"  The  inner  fortress  is  invincible,  Olive,  so  don't 
worry.  I  sha'n't  encourage  the  maid  to  let  her  in. 
Still,  if  she  breaks  through,  at  least  it  will  keep  her 
out  of  mischief  in  other  quarters,  and  I  am  a  long 
way  more  invulnerable  than  Brenton." 

"  They  say,"  Dolph  remarked  at  the  opposite 
wall ;  "  that  it  is  a  perfectly  grand  thing  for  the 
temper." 

Olive  answered  without  a  trace  of  malice,  so  in 
tent  was  she  upon  the  question  at  issue. 

"  Really,  Dolph,  I  think  she  is  n't  cantankerous. 
Quite  selfish  people  never  are;  they  just  grab  every 
thing  in  sight,  with  a  total  serenity  and  regardless 
of  any  consequences.  That  is  the  reason  Mrs.  Bren 
ton  is  such  a  good  subject  for  her  new  religion." 

Reed  roused  himself  from  a  brown  study. 

"  If  you  meet  Brenton  anywhere,  Olive,  don't  you 


THE    BRENTONS  247 

want  to  ask  him  to  come  in  to  see  me  soon  ?  I  've 
some  things  I  want  to  say  to  him;  not  about  this, 
of  course.  Yes,  I  could  telephone,  Dennison ;  but 
I  hate  to  interrupt  him,  when  he  is  in  his  study  at 
the  church ;  and,  at  the  house,  there  's  always  the 
danger  of  calling  out  Mrs.  Brenton.  Going?  I  wish 
3rou  would  n't.  Still,"  and  the  brown  eyes  sought 
the  window ;  "  I  can't  blame  you,  such  a  day." 

"  Oh,  Reed,  don't!  "  Olive  said  hastily,  as  she  bent 
to  take  his  hand.  "  It  makes  us  seem  so  selfish. 
When  will  the  time  ever  come  that  you  can  go, 
too?" 

Reed  shut  his  lips.  Although,  of  late,  both  he 
and  Olive  had  dropped  their  reticence  and  faced 
squarely  and  without  evasion  the  facts  of  his  long 
imprisonment,  even  with  Dolph,  the  mention  of  it 
hurt  him  acutely.  Dolph,  that  day,  was  so  astonish 
ingly  alert,  so  scrupulously  charming  in  his  Sunday 
trim,  such  a  contrast  to  himself,  flattened  out  under 
a  plaid  steamer  rug  whose  fringe  persisted  in  get 
ting  into  his  mouth  at  times,  and  with  his  wavy  hair 
a  little  disarranged  across  his  forehead.  Ramsdell 
was  invaluable;  but,  after  all,  he  was  nurse  pri 
marily,  not  valet.  But,  as  for  Dolph,  he  was  a  thing 
of  beauty  and,  what  was  more,  a  thing  of  life,  not 
a  soggy  bundle  like  himself.  Indeed,  he  was  a  fit 
comrade  for  Olive. 

Despite  his  blithe  farewell,  Reed's  brown  eyes 
drooped  heavily,  after  he  had  watched  the  two  of 
them  pass  out  of  sight  around  the  corner  of  the 
doorway.  Good  comrades?  Yes.  The  thin  lips  lost 
their  steadiness,  quivered  a  little,  then  opened,  to 
send  an  answer  out  to  the  final  hail  that  came  back  to 


248  THE    BRENTONS 

him  from  the  hall  below.  A  moment  afterward,  the 
chin  quivered,  even  as  the  lips  had  done,  and  some 
thing  glittered  on  the  long  brown  lashes. 

"Ramsdell?"  Reed  said,  a  little  later. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  working  on  this  thing?  " 

"  Eleven  months  and  a  'alf,  sir." 

"  Have  I  made  any  gain  at  all?  " 

"  Ye  —  es,  sir.     Oh,  yes." 

Reed  smiled  grimly. 

"  How  much  am  I  going  to  keep  on  gaining?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  Ramsdell's  accent  was  supposed  to 
be  encouraging;  "  you  see,  there  's  always  'ope,  sir." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  so  much.  Well,  never  mind  about 
that  now.  I  want  to  send  a  telegram.  Please  get 
the  blanks." 

With  Ramsdell  seated  by  his  side,  blanks  in  one 
hand,  fountain  pen  in  the  other,  Opdyke  paused  to 
consider. 

"  Well,  there  's  no  use  beating  about  the  bush.  I 
may  as  well  go  straight  to  the  point.  Ready,  Rams 
dell?  All  right.  To  H.  P.  Whittenden,  Seven,  Blank 
Street,  New  York  City.  Sure  you  've  got  that  right? 
All  right.  Then :  Getting  badly  bored  and  losing  grip 
fast.  Come  pull  me  out.  Opdyke.  That 's  all, 
Ramsdell.  Send  it  off,  to-night." 

Next  afternoon,  Whittenden  came,  to  all  seeming 
the  same  unspoiled,  curly-headed  youngster  who  had 
helped  to  open  Brenton's  eyes,  so  long  ago,  to  the 
real  good  there  was  in  life,  despite  the  melancholy 
teachings  of  his  early  Calvinism.  The  professor  was 
busy  with  a  class,  Mrs.  Opdyke  had  a  cold;  and  so 
it  came  about  that  Olive,  dropping  in,  that  morning, 


THE    BRENTONS  249 

and  hearing  of  the  dilemma,  offered  to  drive  down 
to  meet  the  guest. 

"  You  always  were  a  comfort,  Olive,"  Reed  as 
sured  her  gratefully.  "  You  've  a  general-utility 
sort  of  disposition  that  seems  to  balk  at  nothing,  and 
therefore  we  all  impose  upon  you.  Sure  you  don't 
mind?  You  can't  miss  Whittenden.  I  've  told  you 
too  many  things  about  him,  and  he  looks  exactly  the 
sort  of  man  he  is." 

Olive  did  not  miss  him.  More  than  that,  she  used 
the  fifteen  minutes  of  their  drive  together  to  impress 
upon  the  guest's  mind  the  salient  facts  of  Reed's 
history  during  the  past  eleven  months,  facts  largely 
of  the  spirit,  not  a  mere  physical  chronology. 

"  And  the  worst  of  it  all  is,"  she  said,  as  she  drew 
up  at  the  Opdyke  gate ;  "  we  none  of  us,  however 
much  we  care  for  him,  however  hard  we  try,  can  get 
inside  the  situation  and  share  it  with  him.  He  is 
bound  to  go  through  it,  all  alone.  That  is  the  most 
maddening  phase  of  the  whole  thing." 

But  Whittenden,  looking  into  her  brown  eyes,  had 
his  doubts  of  that.  Before  he  went  to  bed,  that  night, 
his  doubts  were  even  greater. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  neither  Reed  Opdyke  nor  his 
guest  slept  very  much,  that  night.  Indeed,  they 
scarcely  went  to  bed  at  all.  Ramsdell,  dozing  in  the 
next  room,  fully  dressed,  to  be  in  call  when  Opdyke 
needed  to  be  put  into  bed,  had  a  hazy  idea  that  the 
evening  was  eighteen  hours  long  and  that  both  the 
men  talked  throughout  it,  without  pause.  The  truth 
of  the  matter  was,  however,  that  the  pauses  were 
both  long  and  frequent,  those  quiet  times  which  come 
across  a  conversation  full  of  mutual  understanding. 


250  THE    BRENTONS 

At  the  start,  there  had  been  a  good  deal  to  say  on 
both  sides.  It  was  the  first  time  the  two  men  had 
met  since  Opdyke's  accident;  an  experience  such  as 
that  can  never  fully  be  explained  by  letters,  espe 
cially  when,  on  one  side,  the  letters  have  to  be  dic 
tated  to  a  man  like  Ramsdell,  sounder  of  heart  than 
of  orthography.  Reed  slurred  over  most  of  the 
details  of  the  accident,  even  now.  What  he  did  not 
slur  over,  what  he  had  summoned  his  friend  to  hear, 
was  the  record  of  the  months  that  had  come  after, 
a  record  which,  for  just  the  once,  he  allowed  himself 
to  paint  in  its  true  colours,  dull,  dun  gray,  and  deep, 
deep  black. 

"That's  all,  Whittenden,"  he  said  abruptly  at 
last.  "  I  suppose  I  might  have  gone  about  it  a  little 
bit  more  tersely ;  but,  the  fact  is,  I  have  n't  been 
letting  myself  rehearse  it  often.  It 's  bad  for  the 
audience." 

"  And  almighty  good  for  you,"  the  curly-headed 
rector  said  tranquilly.  "Mind  if  I  smoke,  Reed?" 

"  Of  course  not.  Sorry  I  can't  join  you.  It 's 
forbidden  fruit,  like  most  other  things,  these  days." 
He  lay  very  still,  for  a  while.  Then  he  looked  up, 
with  the  ghost  of  his  accustomed  smile.  "  Well, 
what  do  you  make  out  of  it  all,  Whittenden?  You  've 
heard  and  seen  the  worst  of  me.  Now  what  next? 
Is  this  losing  my  grip  the  final  stage  of  the  whole 
bad  matter?  " 

Whittenden  flung  up  one  lean  hand  to  grasp  the 
chairback  above  his  head.  Then  he  smoked  in  silence 
for  a  time,  his  clear  eyes  fixed  on  Opdyke's  face.  At 
last,  he  spoke. 

"  Reed,  it  sounds   infernally  like  preaching,  and 


THE    BREXTONS  251 

you  know  I  draw  the  line  at  that,  except  from  the 
pulpit.  However,  I  don't  know  why,  even  if  one  is 
a  preacher,  it 's  not  as  decent  to  quote  Bible  as  to 
quote  Shakespeare ;  and  there  's  one  sentence  that 
keeps  coming  into  my  head,  while  I  watch  you,  about 
losing  your  life  and  finding  it  again.  You  may  think 
you  've  lost  your  grip  on  yourself;  but,  from  your 
own  showing,  you  've  gained  a  lot  of  grip  on  your 
friends,  and  I  'm  not  sure  that  may  not  count  fully 
as  much,  in  the  long  run.  As  for  the  bore  of  it,  I 
can't  much  wonder.  I  'd  go  mad,  myself,  laid  out 
here  like  a  poker,  and  left,  half  the  day,  to  ponder 
on  the  things  I  had  n't  had  time  to  finish  doing.  But, 
for  the  rest  of  it  —  Reed,  I  knew  you  in  what  you 
are  pleased  to  call  your  palmy  days.  They  were 
palmy,  too;  it  must  have  hurt  like  thunder  to  be 
plucked  out  of  them.  And  yet,"  the  clear  eyes  swept 
from  the  topmost  wave  of  brown  hair  down  across 
the  intent  face,  so  curiously  alive,  down  across  the 
inert  body,  so  curiously  dead ;  "  and  yet,  I  '11  be 
hanged  if  I  don't  believe  you  are  more  of  a  man, 
more  of  an  active  force,  than  you  were  then." 

"  Impossible."     Reed  spoke  briefly. 

"  Why  ?  "     The  answer  was  as  brief. 

"  I  don't  see  a  dozen  different  people  in  a  month, 
Whittenden.  You  've  no  idea  how  few  there  are 
who  —  " 

"  Who  take  the  trouble  to  come  up  your  stairs  ? 
Exactly.  Of  course,  there  are  some  others  who  'd 
be  glad  to  come,  and  don't  dare.  There  are  also 
some  others  who  would  be  glad  to  come,  and  who 
probably  would  kill  you,  if  they  did.  Still,  granted 
the  solitary  dozen :  force  is  n't  a  thing  one  measures 


252  THE    BRENTONS 

by  the  acre,  Reed.  It  is  deep,  not  wide.  Therefore 
your  dozen  are  enough." 

"But  why  the  dozen?  They  come  to  play  with 
me.  I  don't  do  anything  to  them." 

"No?"  Whittenden  spoke  with  his  eyes  on  his 
cigar.  "  Ask  Ramsdell.  Ask  Brenton.  Ask  —  " 
he  turned  his  eyes  on  Opdyke ;  "  Miss  Keltridge." 

With  a  sudden  gesture,  Opdyke  flung  his  arm 
across  his  brow  and  eyes. 

"  Don't !  "  he  said,  and  his  voice  sounded  stifled. 

Deliberately  his  friend  bent  forward,  took  away 
the  shielding  arm,  and  looked  down  into  Opdyke's 
eyes  unflinchingly. 

"  Reed,  you  must  not  let  yourself  get  morbid,"  he 
said  steadily.  "  God  knows  there 's  every  reason 
that  you  should;  and  yet,  once  you  do,  the  game 
is  up.  This  is  a  thing  you  must  face  squarely,  and 
remember,  while  you  face  it,  that  not  one  life  is  con 
cerned,  but  two."  Then  he  let  go  the  arm,  which 
went  back  to  the  old  position,  and,  for  a  time,  the 
room  was  very  still. 

"  Old  man,"  Whittenden  said,  after  a  longish  in 
terval  of  smoking  and  watching  the  shielded  face; 
"  I  know  I  'm  not  much  use ;  but  does  n't  it  help  a 
little  to  know  I  'm  here,  and  sick  with  the  seeing 
for  myself  all  that  this  thing  means  to  you?  Of 
course,  I  had  the  letters ;  but  they  did  n't  go  far. 
One  has  to  come  and  talk  it  out ;  and  —  Well, 
I  'm  here." 

Then  the  arm  came  down,  and  the  heavy  eyes  met 
Whittenden's. 

"That's  why  I  sent  for  you,"  Reed  said.  "I 
wanted  you." 


THE    BRENTONS  258 

Ramsdell,  in  the  next  room,  had  quite  a  little  doze, 
before  once  more  the  voices  waked  him. 

"  You  see,"  Reed  said  at  last,  as  if  there  had  been 
no  pause  at  all ;  "  I  was  a  little  in  the  state  those 
fellows  were  in,  up  at  the  mine.  I  needed  something 
equivalent  to  their  extreme  unction.  The  cases  are 
analogous ;  though,  after  all,  I  am  not  sure  it  would 
be  quite  as  hard  to  die  into  the  next  world  as  I  'm 
finding  it  to  die  out  of  this." 

Whittenden's  clear  eyes  flickered.  Then  he  braced 
himself  and  asked  the  direct  question  to  which  his 
friend,  for  two  long  hours,  had  been  so  plainly 
leading. 

"  Reed,  do  you  mean  this  thing  is  —  permanent  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  know  it  for  a  fact?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Since  when?" 

"  A  month  or  so." 

"They  told  you?" 

"  No.  They  still  keep  up  the  fiction  that  they 
can't  predict  anything  with  any  surety." 

"  Then  how  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  How  does  anybody  know  it,  when  more  than  half 
of  himself  is  just  so  much  dead  matter;  when  the 
division  line  between  the  dead  part  and  the  alive 
does  n't  move  along  by  so  much  as  one  hair's  breadth ; 
when  the  dead  part  is  dead  past  any  resurrection? 
It  is  my  body,  Whittenden.  I  know  it  for  a  fact." 

There  was  no  especial  answer  to  be  made.  Whit 
tenden  had  the  superlative  good  sense  to  attempt 
none.  After  a  silence,  Reed  spoke  again. 

"  I  have  n't  told  anybody  of  it  yet,  till  now.    There 


254  THE    BRENTONS 

was  no  use,  and  I  dreaded  the  row  they  'd  be  sure  to 
make.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  first  of  all, 
because  you  are  the  one  man  in  reach  who  has  seen 
me  in  the  thick  of  things,  and  I  knew  there  would  be 
any  amount  of  detail  you  would  take  in,  without  my 
having  to  explain  it  to  you." 

The  rector  nodded.  Through  his  curling  smoke- 
trails,  it  seemed  to  him  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
rugged,  ragged  Colorado  mountains,  of  a  shabby 
mining  camp  centring  in  a  group  of  shafts,  of 
squads  of  rough-faced  miners,  and  of  Reed  Opdyke, 
smiling  and  alert,  striding  here  and  there  among  them, 
laying  down  the  law  superbly,  a  king  among  his  loyal 
and  adoring  subjects.  And  now  —  Whittenden 
flung  back  his  head,  and  his  clear  eyes  glowed  with 
his  belief.  Never  more  a  king  than  now,  as  he  lay 
there,  quiet,  but  very  potent,  establishing  his  throne 
above  the  level  of  the  powers  of  darkness  who 
murmured  threateningly  about  his  feet!  And, 
meanwhile,  — 

"  Queer  thing  about  our  bodies,"  Reed  was  saying; 
"  queer  and  almost  a  little  cruel.  We  drive  them  at 
top  speed  and  never  think  a  thing  about  them,  as  long 
as  they  go  on  all  right.  It 's  when  they  snap,  that 
we  begin  to  realize  all  the  things  they  've  stood  for." 

Again  there  came  the  silence,  while  the  eyes  of  the 
two  men  rested  on  each  other,  more  eloquent  than 
many  words.  At  last,  Reed  spoke  again. 

"  It 's  all  hours,  Whittenden.  I  've  been  a  beast 
to  keep  you  up ;  still,  it  is  a  relief  to  have  it  out  and 
over.  Now  go  to  bed.  Before  you  go,  though  —  for 
now  and  then  we  all  of  us  want  something  we  can 
hang  on  to,  and  this  is  one  of  the  times  —  I  don't 


THE    BRENTONS  255 

mean  to  funk  my  own  share  in  the  main  issue ;  but, 
Whittenden,  before  you  go  off  to  bed,  would  you  mind 
just  saying  the  Our  Father?  It 's  some  time  since 
I  've  heard  it,  and,  in  this  present  muddle  of  my 
universe,  I  've  a  general  notion  it  might  be  of 
help." 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-ONE 

IT  was  not  until  well  on  in  the  next  day  that  the 
two  men  spoke  of  Brenton.  Indeed,  all  their  talk, 
next  morning,  was  plainest  platitude.  Instinctively 
each  of  them  realized  that  the  other  needed  a  little 
time  to  rally  from  the  strain  of  the  night  before. 
Accordingly,  though  eight  o'clock  found  them  break 
fasting  together  in  Opdyke's  room,  Ramsdell,  in  at 
tendance  on  his  patient's  numerous  needs  of  help, 
acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  never  saw  a  patient 
and  a  priest  act  like  such  a  pair  of  schoolboys  squab 
bling  over  jam.  Afterwards,  Ramsdell  dismissed  and 
sent  off  on  an  errand,  Whittenden  smoked,  and 
Opdyke  lay  and  watched  him  in  a  contented  reverie 
too  deep  for  words.  As  he  had  said  to  Brenton,  once 
on  a  time,  it  was  a  relief  to  get  even  a  bad  matter  out 
and  over.  Later,  he  was  quite  well  aware,  he  would 
take  up  the  subject  with  his  friend  once  more;  but 
the  week  was  nearly  all  before  them.  They  could 
afford  to  rest  a  little,  and  let  the  healing  silence  fall 
between  them. 

Indeed,  in  all  the  morning,  they  exchanged  a  scanty 
dozen  sentences.  An  occasional  questioning  glance, 
an  inarticulate  grunt  of  comprehension:  after  their 
long  night  vigil,  this  was  all  for  which  either  of  them 
felt  inclined.  In  the  meantime,  Reed's  face  was 


THE    BRENTONS  257 

losing  somewhat  of  its  look  of  strain;  Whittendcn's 
clear  eyes  were  growing  gentler,  yet  infinitely  more 
full  of  courage.  To  both  of  them,  the  future  was  less 
of  a  blank  wall  than  it  had  seemed,  the  night  before. 
Already,  they  both  were  gathering  a  little  more  per 
spective. 

Towards  noon,  though,  Opdyke  roused  himself  and 
spoke. 

"  This  is  n't  going  to  do  for  you,  Whittenden,"  he 
said,  with  decision.  "  If  you  sit  about  like  this,  I  '11 
have  you  tucked  up  beside  me,  within  the  week. 
You  've  got  to  have  some  exercise.  I  '11  set  Ramsdell 
to  telephoning  on  your  behalf,  if  you  will  call  him. 
Yes,  I  can  telephone;  but  it's  not  too  easy,  so  I 
generally  pass  the  job  on  to  him.  Who  '11  you  have 
for  your  escort:  Olive  Keltridge,  or  Brenton?  " 

"Brenton?" 

"  Scott  Brenton.    Surely,  I  wrote  you  he  was  here." 

Whittenden  laughed. 

"  If  you  did,  it  never  got  put  in.  Most  likely 
Ramsdell  balked  at  the  spelling.  You  mean  the 
Brenton  that  I  married?  " 

"  Yes,  worse  luck !  " 

The  rector  nodded. 

"  It 's  come  to  that ;  has  it  ?  I  'm  not  too  much 
surprised.  What  is  he  doing  here?  " 

"  Preaching,  of  course." 

"  No  of  course  about  it.  He  was  more  a  physicist 
than  anything  else,  it  seemed  to  me.  I  had  an  idea 
he  'd  have  gone  in  for  teaching  before  now." 

"  Give  him  time." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  'd   rather  you   saw   for   yourself.      In   fact,   I 


258  THE    BRENTONS 

think  we  '11  give  up  any  idea  of  Olive,  for  the  after 
noon,  and  telephone  to  Brenton  to  come  and  take 
you  for  a  walk.  Telephone  him  yourself,  for  that 
matter." 

"  He  may  be  busy." 

"  Not  he.  He  has  a  curate  now  to  do  his  routine 
work,  and  he  frisks  about,  a  good  deal  as  he  pleases. 
Poor  beggar !  He  takes  his  very  frisking  sadly, 
nowadays.  And  then,  after  you  've  nailed  him,  would 
you  call  up  Olive,  nine-two-three,  and  tell  her  I  'm 
to  be  abandoned,  all  afternoon.  She  may  take  the 
hint." 

"  Shall  you  tell  her  things,  Reed?  " 

"  Not  yet?  "  Reed  spoke  crisply. 

"  Why  not?    I  fancy  she  'd  be  one  to  understand." 

"  So  she  would.  She  always  does,  always  has  done, 
ever  since  she  was  born,  and  we  all  take  it  out  of  her 
accordingly,  a  good  deal  as  we  take  it  out  of  you. 
However,  I  don't  want  her  to  know  it,  yet  awhile. 
I  'd  prefer  to  understand  the  thing  a  little  better, 
myself,  before  I  pass  it  on.  And,  of  course,  you 
won't  speak  of  it  to  Brenton?" 

And  Whittenden  shook  his  head.  He  shook  it  with 
the  more  surety,  because  of  his  old-time  memories  of 
Brenton,  the  lank,  ill-nourished  youth  with  the  crude 
manners  and  the  lambent  eyes.  One  did  not  tell  things 
to  a  man  like  that ;  one  merely  listened,  and  then  gave 
advice.  That  was  really  all.  And  then,  his  telephon 
ing  finished,  Whittenden  fell  to  wondering  into  what 
sort  of  a  man  Scott  Brenton,  the  embryo,  had  turned. 
The  voice  was  reassuring,  also  the  accent.  Both  spoke 
of  vast  improvement  in  their  owner. 

Two  hours  later,  Whittenden,  balancing  himself  on 


THE    BRENTONS  259 

the  window  sill  at  Opdyke's  side,  glanced  down  at  the 
walk  below  him,  as  he  heard  a  step  draw  near. 

"  You  don't  suppose  that  can  be  Brenton !  "  he  ex 
claimed.  "  It  looks  like  him ;  but,  ye  immortals,  how 
he  's  changed !  " 

"  Have  n't  we  all?  "  Reed  queried  dryly. 

"  Not  so  much.  Why,  man,  he  's  actually  groomed, 
and  he  walks  without  stepping  on  the  edges  of  his  own 
boots.  Brenton  !  "  He  leaned  out  of  the  window,  call 
ing  like  a  boy,  "  Hi,  Brenton!  Is  it  really  you?  " 

And  so  they  met,  after  the  years.  Moreover,  meet 
ing,  it  was  as  if  the  years  they  had  spent  apart  from 
each  other,  instead  of  increasing  the  distance  between 
them,  had  brought  them  to  a  closer  contact  than  any 
of  which  they  hitherto  had  dreamed. 

According  to  their  former  custom,  they  tramped 
for  miles,  that  afternoon,  and  talked  as  steadily  as 
they  tramped.  At  first  sight,  Whittenden  had  been 
delighted  at  the  change  in  his  companion ;  at  a  second, 
the  delight  increased,  and  the  wonder  mingled  with  it. 
It  was  little  short  of  the  marvellous  to  the  rector  of 
Saint-Luke-the-Good-Physician's  that  the  raw,  eager- 
minded  youngster  he  had  known  as  clerklet  in  a  moun 
tain  inn  could  have  developed  into  this  personable 
man,  a  good  talker,  a  good  critic  of  this  world's  valua 
tions,  and,  withal,  not  a  little  magnetic  in  his  personal 
charm.  At  the  first  glance  and  the  second,  Whitten 
den  rejoiced  at  what  he  saw.  At  the  third,  he  doubted. 
The  eyes  were  lambent  still,  but  far  less  happy ;  the 
lips  were  more  sensitive,  albeit  firmer,  and  every  now 
and  then  there  came  a  tired  droop  about  their  corners, 
as  if  life,  even  to  the  prosperous  and  popular  rector 
of  Saint  Peter's,  were  just  a  degree  less  full  of  promise 


260  THE    BRENTONS 

than  he  had  fancied  it  would  be.  The  raw  young 
stripling  had  hoped  all  things ;  the  mature,  seem 
ingly  well-poised  rector  was  having  some  little  diffi 
culty  to  prove  them  good. 

What  was  the  matter,  Whittenden  asked  himself. 
The  ineradicable  germs  of  pessimistic  Calvinism  ?  The 
uncongenial  wife?  Some  lurking  weakness  in  the  man 
himself,  that  forbade  his  ever  coming  to  a  full  con 
tent?  Some  residuum  of  jealous  self-distrust,  left 
over  from  his  primitive  beginnings,  and  causing  him 
to  look  on  every  prosperous  man  as  on  a  potential 
foe?  The  alternatives  were  too  many  and  too  com 
plex  to  be  settled  by  a  two-hour  study  of  the  man 
beside  him.  Therefore  Whittenden,  being  Whitten 
den,  ended  by  putting  the  direct  question. 

"  In  the  final  analysis,  Brenton,  what  are  you  mak 
ing  out  of  your  life?  " 

The  answer  astounded  him  by  its  terse  abruptness. 

"  Chaos,"  Brenton  said. 

Whittenden's  mouth  settled  to  the  outlines  of  a 
whistle,  albeit  no  sound  came  out  of  it. 

"  Chaos  is  a  good,  strong  word,  Brenton,"  he  said, 
after  a  minute.  "  Exactly  what  is  it  that  you 
mean  ?  " 

Brenton  stated  his  meaning,  without  mincing  mat 
ters  in  the  least. 

"  I  mean  that  I  have  no  more  business  to  be  preach 
ing  in  Saint  Peter's  than  I  would  have  to  be  holding 
forth  upon  the  eternal  fires  of  the  most  azure  Cal 
vinism." 

"  But  you  made  your  choice  deliberately." 

Brenton  turned  on  him  with  some  impatience. 

"  What  if  I  did?     What  is  the  choice  of  a  boy  of 


THE    BRENTONS  261 

twenty,  anyway?  Of  a  cocksure,  ambitious  boy  just 
breaking  out  of  leading  strings?  I  did  choose  —  and 
yet,  not  so  freely  as  I  seemed  to  do.  There  was  my 
mother  in  the  background." 

"  Of  course,"  Whittenden  assented  quietly.  "  Who 
else,  better?" 

"  No  one.  Only  —  "  Then  Brenton  curbed  his 
rising  excitement.  Just  as  of  old,  he  felt  the  over 
mastering  wish  to  talk  things  out  with  Whittenden; 
but  his  maturity  shrank  from  the  idea,  as  the  un 
trained  boy  had  never  done.  "  Anyway,"  he  went  on 
quietly ;  "  I  made  my  choice.  I  still  believe  it  was  the 
best  choice  open  to  me  at  the  time.  The  only  trouble 
is  that  I  outgrew  it." 

"  Or  it  outgrew  you,"  Whittenden  suggested 
coolly. 

The  dark  tide  surged  up  across  Scott  Brenton's 
lean  cheeks. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  assented  curtly.  "  Still,  Whitten 
den,  it  does  n't  seem  that  way  to  me.  I  feel  myself 
tied  down  at  every  point." 

"What  ties  you?" 

"  Creeds."  Then  Brenton  laughed  a  little  harshly. 
"  Doubts,  rather." 

Whittenden  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"  What  is  it  that  you  're  doubting,  Brenton  ?  "  he 
inquired. 

"  Everything.  All  the  old  landmarks  of  the  ages," 
Brenton  told  him  restively. 

Whittenden  smiled. 

"  You  had  parted  with  some  of  them,  when  I  last 
said  good  bye  to  you,"  he  reminded  Brenton.  "  You 
had  quenched  the  sulphurous  flames,  and  explained  the 


THE  BRENTONS 

more  surprising  of  the  miracles.  You  even  had  a 
doubt  about  creation's  having  been  achieved  in  one 
hundred  and  seventy  hours.  What  else  has  gone 
upon  your  conscientious  scruples  ?  " 

"  Most  things,  including  a  good  share  of  the 
Thirty-Nine  Articles,"  Brenton  made  curt  answer. 
"  Moreover,  I  have  rewritten  my  early  chapter  in 
the  Book  of  Genesis,  until  it  says  Like  unto  God, 
knowing,  not  Good  and  Evil,  but  the  Law" 

"Hm-m-m!"  Whittenden  said  slowly.  "That 
is  n't  quite  as  original  as  you  may  think  for,  Brenton. 
A  good  many  of  us  others  have  employed  that  form 
of  the  phrase  before.  Still,  there  's  no  use  in  taking 
it  for  a  sort  of  cudgel,  to  knock  down  the  people  who 
still  cling  to  the  dear  old  phrases.  And  they  are 
good  phrases,  too.  They  deserve  to  be  revered  for 
their  antiquity,  and  for  the  hold  they  have  kept  upon 
all  mankind ;  still  I  don't,  myself,  see  why  you  need 
to  take  them  any  more  literally  than  you  do  some 
of  those  old  resonant  lines  of  Homer.  It 's  the 
spirit  of  the  thing  we  're  after,  not  the  barren 
phrases." 

"Then  what's  the  good  of  all  your  creed?" 
Brenton  demanded  shortly. 

"  Our  creed,"  Brenton  corrected  him  quite  gently ; 
more  gently,  even,  than  he  had  spoken  to  Reed  Opdyke 
on  the  night  before.  Indeed,  Scott  Brenton  seemed 
to  him  vastly  more  in  need  of  gentleness  than  did 
Opdyke.  His  trouble  was  as  deep-seated ;  moreover, 
it  was  complicated  by  a  curious  ingrained  weakness 
which,  Whittenden  judged,  it  would  be  hard  for  him 
to  down.  In  Opdyke's  place,  Brenton  would  have 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  made  a  long, 


THE    BRENTONS  263 

long  moan.  In  Brenton's  position,  Opdyke  would 
have  kept  his  flags  flying  gayly,  as  long  as  there 
was  a  tatter  of  them  left. 

Now,  Brenton's  accent  showed  that  he  resented  the 
correction. 

"  Ours,  if  you  will ;  at  least,  for  the  present.  But, 
after  all,  what  is  the  good?  " 

Whittenden's  reply  came  promptly. 

"  A  common  platform,  where  we  can  stand  side  by 
side,  while  we  are  doing  our  individual  work." 

"  But,  if  you  don't  believe  in  it?  " 

A  sudden  gleam  of  mirth  came  into  Whittenden's 
clear  eyes. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  put  your  foot  on  every  single 
plank  in  any  platform,  Brenton?  If  you  do,  you'll 
need  to  have  it  built  just  to  your  measure.  It  seems 
to  me  that,  in  course  of  time,  you  'd  find  it  a  little 
lonely,  to  say  nothing  of  the  minor  fact  that  people 
work  together  all  the  better  for  being  on  some  sort 
of  a  common  basis." 

"  But  is  work  the  only  thing?  "  Brenton  queried 
rather  absently. 

And  the  curly-headed  rector  by  his  side  made  swift, 
emphatic  answer,  — 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  why  —  " 

Whittenden  interrupted  him. 

"  What  do  you  believe,  Brenton  ?  For  any  man  is 
bound  to  have  some  shreds  of  belief;  that  is,  as  long 
as  he  keeps  out  of  the  nearest  asylum  for  the  incur 
able  insane." 

"  My  belief,  or  my  profession?  " 

"  Hang  your  profession !  "  Whittenden   said   im- 


264  THE    BRENTONS 

patiently.  "  Or  else,  hang  on  to  it,  and  keep  still. 
But  it 's  your  belief  I  want,  your  creed,  your  working 
platform." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  have  one?  "  Brenton  asked 
rather  irritably,  for  Whittenden's  attitude  was  dis 
tinctly  less  satisfying  to  him  than  it  had  been  of  yore. 

"  Because  I  know  the  kind  of  men  Saint  Peter's  has 
been  accustomed  to  demand.  Also  because  I  have 
talked  to  Reed  Opdyke." 

"  And  Opdyke  told  you  —  " 

"  Nothing ;  beyond  the  mere  fact  that  he  is  very 
fond  of  you.  Opdyke  does  n't  care  for  many  people ; 
his  very  affection  tells  its  story.  Still,  that  is  beside 
the  point.  What  tag  ends  of  belief  have  you  got 
left?" 

Even  in  its  kindliness,  the  voice  was  masterful,  the 
voice  of  the  thoroughbred,  when  he  gets  in  earnest. 
Brenton  longed  to  stiffen  himself  against  the  mastery, 
but  he  could  not.  His  ineffectual  effort  lent  an  edge 
of  sarcasm  to  his  tone. 

"  When  the  eye  of  the  parish  is  upon  me,  I  read 
out  the  Nicene  Creed  in  the  deepest  voice  at  my 
disposal.  When  —  ' 

"  This  is  rather  beneath  your  customary  methods, 
Brenton,"  his  companion  interrupted  him.  "  But  go 
on." 

Brenton's  lips  shut  hard  together  for  a  minute. 
Then  he  did  go  on,  and  in  a  totally  different  voice. 

"  When  I  look  myself  squarely  in  the  face,  Whit- 
tenden,  I  find  I  can  assent  to  just  two  points,  no 
more." 

"And  they?" 

"  God.     Universal  law." 


THE    BRENTONS  265 

"So  far,  so  good.  And  man?"  Whittenden 
queried. 

"  Their  corollary." 

"  Exactly."  Whittenden  walked  on  in  silence  for 
a  little  way.  "  Well,  what  else  do  you  want,  Bren- 
ton  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Nothing.  My  people,  however,  want  a  great  deal 
more." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Our  ritual." 

"  Can't  you  interpret  it  with  any  common  sense?  " 
The  impatience  again  was  manifest. 

"  Not  in  common  honesty."  And  Brenton  lifted  up 
his  chin. 

A  little  laugh  came  to  his  companion's  lips  and  eyes. 

"  Why  not?  "  he  queried.  "  You  don't  expect  our 
public  schools  to  abandon  the  Aeneid  and  Homer, 
because  they  don't  consider  the  old  mythologies  ac 
curate  history.  You  don't  expect  to  give  up  the  best 
of  Hafiz  and  Omar,  because  you  also  come  in  contact 
with  the  worst  of  them.  We  'd  be  poorer,  all  our  lives, 
by  just  so  much.  In  the  same  way,  why  can't  you 
take  the  best  of  our  theologies  as  fact  and  love  it, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  keep  a  certain  respect  for  the 
rest  of  them  that  you  don't  believe,  the  sort  of  respect 
you  give  an  aged  ancestor,  a  respect  for  what  they 
have  been  to  the  world  at  large,  not  for  what  they  are 
now  to  you?  Belief,  in  the  last  analysis,  is  nothing 
but  well-applied  common  sense." 

It  was  a  long  time  before  either  of  the  men  spoke 
again.  In  the  end,  Whittenden  broke  the  silence. 

"  Brenton,  I  'd  have  given  a  good  deal  to  have 
known  your  parents,"  he  said. 


266  THE    BRENTONS 

"  To  weigh  me  up  ?  "  Brenton  smiled.  "  You  saw 
my  mother:  a  strong,  self-reliant,  self-willed  char 
acter,  threaded  through  and  through  with  Calvinism. 
She  was  totally  unselfish,  yet  totally  self-centred.  In 
the  same  way,  she  was  always  on  a  battleground 
between  the  claims  of  her  own  rampant  freewill  and 
her  sanctified  belief  in  predestination.  It 's  not  an 
easy  thing  to  analyze  her." 

"  And  your  father?  " 

Brenton  coloured  hotly. 

"  I  was  only  ten  days  old,  when  he  died,  Whitten- 
den ;  but  the  tradition  has  come  down  to  me.  If  he 
had  n't  been  so  weak,  so  totally  self-indulgent,  he  'd 
have  been  a  genius.  Even  in  the  worst  of  his  self- 
indulgence,  he  had  ten  times  my  mother's  logic.  If 
he  had  had  one  tenth  of  her  will  power,  he  'd  have 
counted.  As  it  was,  though,  —  utter  annihilation. 
He  died,  and  left  no  record.  My  mother  helped  it 
on,  by  never  mentioning  him,  up  to  the  very  day 
she  died." 

"Hm!"  Whittenden  said  thoughtfully.  "Per 
haps  she  knows  him  better  now." 

Brenton  glanced  at  him  curiously. 

"  You  still  believe  it?" 

"  Of  course.  No ;  no  use  arguing  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  biologist  and  chemist,  Brenton.  It 
won't  do  you  any  good,  nor  me  any  harm.  It 's  in  me ; 
I  don't  know  whence  or  wherefore,  so  save  your 
breath  and  use  it  on  other  things.  I  think  your 
ancestry  is  all  accounted  for.  As  to  environment: 
what  does  your  wife  say  about  it?  " 

"The  environment?"  Brenton  asked,  a  little  bit 
perversely. 


THE    BRENTONS  267 

"  No ;  the  highly  individualistic  platform  you  are 
erecting  for  yourself?  Are  you  to  leave  room  there 
for  her?" 

"  Hardly.    She  would  n't  mount  it,  if  I  did." 

"  Does  n't  share  the  doubts  ?  " 

Brenton  shook  his  head.  As  yet,  he  was  loath  to 
put  into  words  the  fact  of  his  wife's  adoption  of  her 
new  creed.  Appearances  and  his  own  forebodings  to 
the  contrary,  it  might  be  but  a  passing  phase  of  her 
experience.  The  label  of  it,  though,  once  affixed, 
would  be  well-nigh  impossible  of  removal. 

"  Katharine  has  never  come  so  very  much  inside 
my  professional  life,"  he  paltered. 

Whittenden  pricked  up  his  ears,  partly  at  the 
statement,  partly  at  the  unfamiliar  name.  He  had 
felt  sure  that  he  had  heard  "  I,  Scott,  take  thee, 
Catia."  In  his  more  mellow  New  York  life,  such 
transforming  evolution  was  less  common.  However, 
names  were  a  detail.  It  was  the  fact  he  challenged. 

"Your  wife?  But  how  can  she  stay  outside  it, 
Brenton?" 

"  Oh,  she  's  not  outside  it,  in  a  sense.  Before  the 
boy  came,  she  was  in  all  the  guilds  and  parish  teas 
and  that.  Really,"  Brenton  spoke  with  a  blind  op 
timism  ;  "  she  was  very  popular.  But,  in  the  vital 
things  one  thinks  and  feels  —  Whittenden,  I  don't 
imagine  any  woman  ever  really  can  share  those  things 
with  us  men.  We  are  created  different.  We  can't  go 
inside  each  other's  shells." 

And  in  that  final  utterance,  it  seemed  to  Whitten 
den,  Scott  Brenton  voiced  the  saddest  phase  of  all 
his  present  unbelief. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-TWO 

"  STILL,  Reed,  I  rather  grudge  the  time,"  Whit- 
tenden  said  to  his  host  when,  dinner  over,  that  same 
night,  he  flung  himself  into  a  chair  at  Opdyke's 
side.  "  For  all  practical  purposes,  it  was  a  wasted 
afternoon.  I  'd  much  rather  have  been  here  with 

you." 

"  You  'd  have  been  quite  de  trap,  old  man.  Olive 
Keltridge  was  here,  two  hours,  and  filled  me  up  with 
all  the  gossip  of  the  town.  Besides,  you  were  filling 
yourself  up  with  ozone,  and  preparing  to  make  a 
night  of  it.  Apropos  —  Ramsdell !  " 

"  Yes,  sir?  "  Ramsdell  appeared  upon  the  thresh 
old  of  the  outer  room. 

"  Go  to  bed,  like  a  Christian,  when  you  get  ready. 
No  need  for  you  to  become  a  martyr,  because  Mr. 
Whittenden  and  I  wish  to  carouse  till  all  hours.  When 
I  need  you,  Mr.  Whittenden  will  come  to  wake  you, 
and  you  can  appear  in  your  pajamas,  if  you  choose. 
Is  n't  that  all  right,  Whittenden?  Good  night,  Rams 
dell."  Then,  as  Ramsdell  vanished,  Reed  settled 
himself  with  a  little  sigh.  "  It 's  a  fearsome  respon 
sibility,  Whittenden,"  he  said ;  "  to  win  this  sort  of 
sheep-dog  devotion.  Ramsdell,  on  my  grilly  days, 
would  like  nothing  better  than  to  stand  and  let  me  shy 
things  at  his  head.  It  is  beautiful ;  but  it  gets  a  trifle 


THE    BRENTONS  269 

sultry.  A  little  downright  cussedness  helps  to  clear 
the  air  occasionally;  but  cussed  is  the  one  thing 
Ramsdell  is  n't.  I  suppose  it  is  because  he  is  the 
product  of  the  ages;  it  goes  with  his  misplaced 
aspirates." 

Whittenden  struck  a  match. 

"  The  sheep-dog  thing  is  worth  the  having,  though. 
Best  hang  on  to  it,  Reed.  It  does  n't  come  to  most  of 
us  too  often." 

Opdyke  eyed  him  rather  mirthfully. 

"What's  the  matter,  man?"  he  queried.  "Did 
your  own  sheep  dog  growl  at  you,  this  afternoon?  " 

"Mine?" 

"  Brenton.  He  counts  you  as  the  great  formative 
influence  of  his  life,  and  adores  you  accordingly." 

"  Not  now.  I  knew  he  had  been  through  the  phase, 
Opdyke.  In  fact,  I  had  rather  counted  on  its  lasting ; 
but  it  has  n't." 

"  From  which  I  infer  that  he  showed  his  teeth,  to 
day.  What  was  the  matter?  Did  you  try  to  stroke 
his  head,  and  accidentally  hit  him  on  the  raw?  " 

"  Not  consciously.  It 's  only  that  I  've  lost  all  my 
helpful  grip  on  him." 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  Because  —  to  carry  out  your  sheep-dog  metaphor 
which,  in  reality,  does  n't  fit  the  case  at  all,  Opdyke  — 
he  put  his  paw  in  mine,  and  then  growled  at  me  when 
I  shook  it." 

"  I  'm  not  so  much  surprised.  Brenton  has  been 
on  his  nerves  lately.  I  can't  just  see  why,  though." 

"  Has  he  talked  to  you,  Opdyke?  " 

"  Good  Lord,  yes  !  A  man  on  his  nerves  is  bound  to 
talk  to  something,  whether  it  's  a  responsible  person 


270  THE    BRENTONS 

like  yourself,  or  a  mere  bedpost  like  me.  It 's  the 
talking  that 's  the  main  thing,  the  sense  of  exhilara 
tion  that  comes  with  the  discussion  of  depressing 
personalities.  We  're  all  alike,  every  man  of  us, 
Whittenden.  Didn't  I  take  my  turn,  last  night?" 

"  That 's  different." 

"  Not  a  bit.  Spine  or  conscience,  it 's  all  one,  once 
it  begins  to  raise  a  ruction.  But  about  Brenton :  how 
do  you  diagnose  his  disease?" 

Whittenden's  reply  came  on  the  instant. 

"  Trying  to  believe  too  many  things  too  hard." 

*'  Hm !  "  Opdyke  appeared  to  be  considering. 
"  Well,  I  think  perhaps  you  've  hit  it.  However, 
there  are  some  extenuating  circumstances.  Give  a 
man  a  dozen  years  or  so  of  the  mental  starvation  of 
a  New  England  wilderness,  and  then  all  at  once  fill 
him  chock  full  of  new  ideas,  and  he  gets  a  pain  within 
him,  just  as  painful  a  pain  as  if  it  were  in  his  tummy, 
not  his  mind.  In  time,  it  leads  to  chronic  indigestion. 
That 's  what  Brenton  's  got." 

"  Yes ;  but  that  is  cause,  not  extenuating  circum 
stance,"  Whittenden  objected. 

"  It 's  extenuating,  just  the  same.  And  then  the 
wife !  She  is  —  " 

"Well?" 

"  A  pill,"  Reed  said  briefly. 

"What  sort??' 

"  Born  common  and  dense.  Grown  self-centred  and 
conceited.  Lately  turned  from  ultra-ritualistic  to 
incipient  Eddyism." 

"  That 's  bad." 

"  Is  n't  it?  No  wonder  Brenton  's  down  and  out, 
for  the  time  being.  The  question  is  how  we  are  to 


THE    BRENTONS  271 

prevent  its  becoming  chronic.  Of  course,  this  is  the 
bare  outline;  you  can  fill  in  the  details  out  of  your 
own  experience." 

"  Praise  heaven,  I  have  n't  any !  "  Whittenden  re 
sponded  piously. 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you,  and  so  very  much 
the  worse  for  Brenton.  I  had  counted  on  your  being 
here  to  haul  him  out  of  his  present  mental  Turkish 
bath,  and  hang  him  out  on  the  line  in  the  fresh  air 
and  sun.  I  can't."  Reed  made  an  expressive  grimace 
at  the  couch.  "  Besides,  I  'm  a  little  bit  like  old  Knut 
on  the  seashore ;  my  own  toes  are  getting  very  wet. 
The  worst  of  that  matter  is  that  Brenton  knows  it." 

Whittenden  spoke  tranquilly,  his  eyes  on  Opdyke's 
face,  sure  that  he  could  rely  upon  the  sense  of  humour 
in  his  friend. 

"  Yes,  Brenton  does  know  it.  Do  you  realize, 
Opdyke,  that  you  're  the  fellow  who  heated  up  his 
Turkish  bath,  in  the  first  place?  " 

"  What !  "  The  word  exploded  with  a  violence  that 
brought  Ramsdell's  head  in  at  the  open  doorway. 

"  Yes,  you." 

Opdyke  smiled  at  Ramsdell,  in  token  of  dismissal. 
Then,  - 

"  Not  guilty !  "  he  protested. 

"  Yes,  you  are.  I  wormed  it  out  of  Brenton,  in  the 
end,  in  spite  of  his  growling.  It 's  too  bad  of  me  to 
tell  you;  and  yet  it  seems  only  fair  that  you  should 
get  at  the  truth  of  the  situation.  Besides  —  You 
know  you  are  a  fearful  egoist,  Reed;  we  all  are,  for 
that  matter.  Besides,  it  may  make  you  a  little  bit 
more  tolerant  of  Brenton,  may  lead  you  to  smooth  him 
down  where  I  have  been  rubbing  him  the  wrong  way. 


272  THE    BRENTONS 

In  fact,  you  owe  it  to  him,  to  atone  for  the  volcanic 
effect  you  have  had  on  his  theology." 

"  Dear  man,  I  have  n't  upset  his  blamed  theology," 
Reed  objected.  "I'm  sound  enough;  I  wouldn't 
upset  a  mouse.  Ask  Ramsdell  if  I  've  ever  argued 
against  his  belief  in  the  literal  greening  apple,  *  a  wee 
bit  hunripe,  sir,'  upon  which  Adam  feasted." 

"  Not  in  words.  It 's  the  fact  of  you  that 's  so 
upsetting." 

"  I  've  been  accused  unjustly  of  a  good  many  things 
in  my  time,  Whittenden.  Besides,"  again  there  came 
the  grimace  at  the  couch ;  "  it  rather  seems  to  me 
that  I  'm  the  one  who  has  been  upset." 

"  That 's  the  whole  row.  You  are  the  first  brick 
in  the  line.  You  bowled  over  Brenton ;  now  he  ap 
pears  to  be  bowling  over  his  wife.  Yes,  I  mean  it. 
If  Brenton  had  held  steady,  she  never  would  have 
wobbled,  much  less  bolted  off  to  Christian  Science. 
She  was  keen  enough  to  feel  him  tottering,  and  she 
evidently  made  up  her  mind  to  save  herself  from  the 
impending  ruins  by  taking  refuge  upon  the  other  side 
of  the  street.  I  must  say  it  was  rather  prudent  of 
her.  She  had  the  sense  to  choose  a  new  house  built 
on  a  totally  different  stratum  from  her  old  one.  If 
one  collapsed,  it  couldn't  well  jar  the  other." 

"  Hold  on,  Whittenden !  "  Reed  broke  in,  after  long 
waiting  for  a  pause.  "  I  am  willing  to  take  my  share 
of  blame  for  most  things  ;  but  I  '11  be  —  " 

"  Sh-h ! "  Whittenden  warned  him  indolently. 
"  Remember  I  'm  a  rector  in  good  standing." 

"  Then  bring  me  a  book  of  synonyms.  Anyhow, 
I  '11  be  it,  before  I  '11  take  the  responsibility  of  that 
Brenton  woman's  vagaries.  Ask  Olive." 


THE    BRENTONS  273 

"  I  don't  need  to,"  Whittenden  remarked  at  his 
cigar.  "  I  married  them.  Likewise,  I  have  seen 
Brenton,  this  very  day.  After  collating  those  two 
references,  I  don't  need  Miss  Keltridge  for  a  commen 
tary.  As  for  Brenton  —  " 

Opdyke  interrupted. 

"  How  do  you  figure  out  that  I  've  been  upsetting 
him?  "  he  queried. 

Whittenden  settled  himself  in  his  favourite  posi 
tion,  low  in  his  chair  and  with  one  hand  flung  up 
ward  to  grasp  the  chair-top  above  his  head.  His 
eyes,  fixed  on  Opdyke,  were  full  of  merriment. 

"  Let 's  go  back  a  little.  When  you  first  knew 
Brenton,  he  was  a  bit  uncommon,  the  ordinary  pro 
duct  of  Calvinism  flavoured  with  something  vastly 
more  hectic.  That  was  inside  him,  that  hectic  splash 
in  his  blood;  it  made  him  imaginative,  greedy  of  new 
ideas,  greedy  to  prove  that  they  were  good.  More 
over,  he  had  been  trained  to  believe  that  an  irate 
Deity  of  unstable  nerves  presided  over  the  universe; 
that  He  had  created  the  world  and  beast  and  man  in 
a  series  of  experiments  which  had  come  off"  well,  until 
it  reached  the  last  one,  man ;  that  man  had  gone  bad 
in  the  making,  and  must  be  pursued  and  thrashed  for 
all  eternity  on  that  account,  unless  he  made  an  um 
brella  out  of  his  acknowledged  vices,  and  sat  down 
underneath  it  and  sang  hymns  to  a  harp  accompani 
ment.  Else,  he  was  grilled  eternally.  But  the  gist 
of  the  whole  matter  was  that  man  had  gone  bad  in  the 
making,  and  that  his  Maker  was  angry  at  him  to  the 
end  of  time.  And  that  same  blundering  and  angry 
Maker  was  the  God  one  had  to  love  and  honour. 
Naturally,  being  constituted  as  he  is,  Brenton,  once 


274  THE    BRENTONS 

he  had  cut  his  wisdom  teeth,  turned  balky,  refused 
to  see  why  he  should  love  a  God  who  behaved  like  a 
bad-tempered  child  that  spites  the  toy  he  has  broken 
and  beats  the  wall  where  he  has  bumped  his  head. 
Meanwhile  —  " 

"  Do  I  —    "  Opdyke  was  beginning. 

Whittenden  waved  aside  the  interruption. 

"  No ;  you  don't  come  in  yet.  Be  patient.  As  I 
was  going  to  say,  meanwhile  he  went  into  his  first 
laboratory  and  made  the  prompt  discovery  that  noth 
ing  ever  happens,  that  causes  are  set  in  motion  ages 
and  ages  before  they  ever  materialize  into  effects. 
That  set  him  to  thinking,  set  him  to  wondering  why 
the  thing  that  he  was  trained  to  call  revealed  religion 
should  be  the  only  lawless  thing  in  all  the  universe. 
Why  the  same  Deity  should  have  created  law,  and 
then  set  Himself  up  in  opposition  to  it,  should  have 
started  the  wheels  to  running,  and  then,  every  now 
and  then,  stuck  a  mighty  finger  in,  to  pry  them  apart 
and  make  them  slip  a  cog,  in  deference  to  some  later 
modification  of  His  original  plan.  It  was  just  about 
then  that  I  found  him.  He  was  floundering  in  a  per 
fect  mire,  composed  of  the  dust  of  conflict  mingled 
with  penitential  tears.  Really,  he  was  knee-deep 
in  the  muck ;  and  I  put  in  a  good  share  of  my 
vacation  in  trying  to  haul  him  back  to  solid 
ground." 

Opdyke  nodded. 

"  He  has  told  me." 

"  His  side,  only.  Mine  was  a  degree  less  serious, 
Reed.  Sorry  for  him  as  I  was,  I  could  n't  help  a 
certain  amusement  at  seeing  him  get  himself  into  such 
a  mess  over  nothing.  How  any  person  with  a  fair 


THE    BRENTONS  275 

share  of  common  sense  can —  Well,  I  toiled  over  him, 
all  summer.  Talk  about  mines !  I  mined  in  him. 
I  sank  new  shafts  and  I  dug  out  new  veins,  and  I 
presented  samples  of  ore  for  his  inspection.  By  the 
end  of  the  summer,  I  'd  got  him  to  where  he  admitted 
that  a  law-abiding  God  was  an  improvement  on  his 
old,  erratic,  lawless,  irate  Deity ;  that  it  was  treating 
Him  with  a  long  way  more  respect  to  endow  Him 
with  the  attributes  of  a  high-minded  gentleman  than 
to  consider  Him  a  mere  purveyor  of  red-hot  discipline 
for  sins  He  had  specifically  created.  Then,  in  the 
end,  I  put  it  squarely  up  to  him :  if  he  must  preach 
at  all,  why  not  choose  a  church  that  stood  for  law 
and  order  in  the  universe,  a  church  that,  hanging  to 
the  old  traditions,  yet  held  out  her  arms  to  the  new 
interpretations  of  the  law  and  gospel,  instead  of 
sticking  to  the  cast-iron,  white-hot  Calvinism  which 
had  n't  marched  an  inch,  had  n't  so  much  as  changed 
the  focus  of  its  spectacles,  since  the  pre-Darwin  days 
of  the  very  first  of  his  ancestral  parsons." 

"Well?" 

"  Well."  And  Whittenden  pulled  himself  up  short. 
"  This  is  where  you  begin  to  come  in  on  the  scene, 
you  reprobate.  I  had  just  got  him  on  his  legs,  march 
ing  sanely  along,  to  the  tune  of  '  All  Thy  works  shall 
praise  Thy  name,'  when  the  doctors  came  lugging 
you  home  into  his  very  parish,  laid  you  down  under 
neath  his  very  nose.  No  wonder  you  upset  him,  com 
pletely  bowled  him  over  off  his  theological  pins.  His 
God  was  just  and  loving  and  logical,  even  if  a  little 
bit  more  given  to  personal  interference  than  any  but 
a  Calvinistic  God  is  supposed  to  be.  And  here  were 
you,  from  all  accounts  a  law-abiding  citizen  —  of 


276  THE    BRENTONS 

course  the  theologian  in  him  failed  to  take  the  black 
powder  into  account  —  smitten  down  in  your  prime 
by  what  he  was  electing  to  call  the  hand  of  Divine 
Providence.  Of  course,  it  tousled  up  all  the  notions 
I  had  been  stroking  down  so  carefully.  He  came  on 
a  knot  —  from  his  own  story,  I  think  it  was  the  ques 
tion  as  to  why  a  purely  innocent  Opdyke  was  chosen 
as  an  object  of  wrathful  vengeance.  Then  he  im 
mediately  went  panicky.  That 's  the  erratic  strain  in 
him.  Up  to  a  certain  point,  he  's  logical ;  then  he 
gets  into  a  seething  mass  of  mismatched  syllogisms. 
In  this  case,  if  Providence  was  good,  and  you  also 
were  good,  then  Providence  would  n't  have  knocked 
you  into  a  cocked  hat.  No  matter  now  about  the 
sympathy  of  my  phrase;  I  want  you  to  get  the  gist 
of  the  whole  situation.  Well,  he  turned  and  twisted 
that  around  into  form  AAA,  EAE,  and  so  on  down 
the  line;  and,  worse  luck,  he  twisted  himself  with  it 
till  he  lost  all  his  point  of  view,  got  dizzy,  and  missed 
his  footing  utterly.  The  original  trouble  lay  in  his 
sheer  inability  to  tally  up  you  and  a  benign  Provi 
dence  into  any  proper  sort  of  a  sum.  Therefore, 
one  of  you  must  be  improper  and,  hence,  must  be 
abolished.  Therefore,  as  you  were  very  weighty 
and  manifestly  refused  to  budge,  he  proceeded  to 
abolish  Providence." 

"  Hm.  Well."  Opdyke  spoke  thoughtfully.  "  I 
begin  to  see.  However,  even  if  I  am  to  blame,  I  still 
insist  upon  it  I  'm  not  guilty.  Meanwhile,  what 
now?" 

"  Meanwhile,  he 's  become  so  enamoured  of  the 
abolishing  process  that  he  's  keeping  on.  Unless  we 
can  contrive  to  break  up  the  habit,  in  the  end  he  will 


THE    BRENTONS  277 

analyze  himself  into  his  original  elements,  and  then 
abolish  those." 

Reed  laughed.     Then  he  said  slowly,  — 

"  Poor  beggar !  " 

"  Yes,"  Whittenden  assented,  with  sudden  gravity ; 
"  that  is  just  it.  Poor  beggar!  And  now,  the  worst 
of  it  all  is  that,  unless  we  break  it  up  at  once,  it  will 
have  to  run  its  course,  like  any  other  disease." 

"  You  call  it  a  disease?  " 

"  In  his  case,  I  do.  Brenton  is  n't  after  any  working 
truth  to  help  along  the  rest  of  us ;  he  's  started  hunt 
ing  the  ignis  fatuus  of  abstract  verity,  provable  to 
its  utmost  limit.  Taken  as  mental  gymnastics,  it  is 
doubtless  a  fine  exercise.  Taken  as  a  spiritual  tonic 
to  a  lot  of  world-tired  fellow  mortals,  I  confess  I 
doubt  its  inherent  value." 

"You  told  him  so?" 

"  In  all  honour,  as  an  older  man  inside  the  same 
profession,  I  could  n't  do  much  else." 

"And  he?" 

"  Resented  it,  exactly  as  you  or  I  would  have 
resented  it,  if  we  had  happened  to  be  standing  in  his 
spiritual  shoes.  I  could  n't  blame  him,  Reed ;  and 
yet  I  'm  sorry." 

Reed  nodded. 

"  I  know.  Those  things  always  take  it  out  of  one. 
Besides,  it 's  hard  lines  to  help  in  upsetting  your  own 
pedestal.  I  'm  sorry  that  Brenton  took  it  badly, 
Whittenden.  I  did  n't  think  it  of  him ;  you  have 
counted  so  much  to  him,  for  years." 

Whittenden  spoke  a  little  sadly. 

"  He  thinks  that  he  has  outgrown  me,  Reed ;  there 
fore  he  won't  feel  the  hurt  of  it,  one  half  so  much." 


278  THE    BRENTONS 

Opdyke  looked  up  sharply,  a  world  of  comprehen 
sion  in  his  brave  brown  eyes. 

"  But  it  has  hurt  you,  Whittenden." 

"  Yes,"  his  companion  confessed.  "  It  has.  It 
has  hit  me  hard  on  my  besetting  sin,  Reed,  the  liking 
to  know  that  I  'm  of  use  to  people.  And  I  was  of 
use  to  Brenton ;  I  'd  hoped  to  keep  the  old  relation 
to  the  end ;  but  it 's  impossible.  I  found  that  out, 
to-day." 

"  It  depends  on  what  you  call  being  of  use," 
Opdyke  retorted.  "  You  may  not  have  coddled  up 
his  Ego,  and  patacaked  his  nerves ;  but  there  's  some 
times  a  long  way  more  helpfulness  in  a  good  thrash 
ing  than  in  all  the  coddlings  since  the  world  began!, 
And  Brenton  has  had  an  infernal  amount  of  coddling 
lately ;  there  's  no  denying  that.  It 's  not  alone  the 
women ;  it  is  sensible  men  like  Doctor  Keltridge  and 
my  father,  men  who  ought  to  be  filing  his  teeth,  not 
softening  them  up  with  goodies.  However,  that 's  as 
it  is.  What  will  be  the  end  of  it,  do  you  think?  " 

"  Smash ;    unless  you  hold  him,  Reed." 

"Me?     I?" 

"  Yes,  you.  I  don't  mean  —  I  'm  in  earnest  now ; 
I  hate  to  see  a  good  man  chucking  a  good  profession, 
and,  unless  he  steadies  down,  he  is  bound  to  chuck  it 
—  I  don't  mean  any  nonsense  about  your  owing  it  to 
him.  I  mean  that  you  can  hold  him  steady  longer 
than  anybody  else." 

"  Not  you?  "     Opdyke's  accent  was  incredulous. 

"  My  grip  on  him  is  gone.  In  the  past,  I  may  have 
helped  him.  All  I  could  say,  this  afternoon,  only 
rubbed  him  the  wrong  way,  and  increased  the  notion 
that  he  's  cherishing,  the  notion  that  he  's  an  uncom- 


THE    BRENTONS  279 

prehended  genius.  In  heaven's  name,  Reed,"  and 
Whittenden's  fist  came  crashing  down  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair ;  "  is  anything  in  this  whole  world  more 
hard  to  fight  than  that  same  pose  of  being  misunder 
stood?  Nine  times  out  of  ten,  it  is  mere  pose.  The 
tenth  time,  it  is  mere  paranoia,  and  hence  more  man 
ageable.  No.  My  hold  on  Brenton  is  all  gone.  As 
I  say,  he  has  outgrown  me;  I  still  believe  in  my  im 
mortal  soul,  and  a  few  such  other  trifles  that  no 
laboratory  can  prove.  To  be  sure,  you  believe  them, 
too ;  but,  if  you  're  going  to  manage  Brenton,  keep 
the  beliefs  tucked  out  of  sight." 

"  Where  's  my  hold  on  him,  then?  "  Reed  queried. 

Whittenden,  bending  forward,  laid  his  hand  across 
the  rug. 

"  This,"  he  said  quietly ;  and,  strange  to  say,  the 
words  brought  no  sting  to  Reed  Opdyke's  mind. 

Nevertheless,  he  objected  to  the  fact. 

"  It  seems  so  much  like  gallery  play,  Whittenden," 
he  urged.  "  It 's  a  bit  nasty  to  be  making  capital 
out  of  a  thing  like  that." 

Whittenden  shook  his  head,  as,  settling  back 
again,  he  flung  his  hand  up  into  the  old  resting 
place. 

"  Not  if  it 's  given  you  for  just  that  purpose,"  he 
answered  then.  "  No,  Reed,  hear  me  out.  It  never 
has  been  your  way  to  dodge  responsibilities ;  in  the 
end,  you  're  sure  to  buck  up  against  this  one,  so  you 
may  as  well  take  it  now  as  ever.  This  thing  appears 
to  be  your  present  asset.  Properly  managed,  it  can 
bring  you  no  end  of  influence.  Your  friends,  who 
really  know  you,  will  watch  you  hanging  on  to  your 
self  like  grim  death ;  and,  in  time,  they  '11  come  to 


280  THE    BRENTONS 

where  they  '11  trust  your  grip  to  pull  them  out  of 
danger,  too,  when  they  get  to  funking.  It 's  an 
almighty  hard  j  ob  you  've  got  ahead  of  you,  and  an 
endless  one;  still,  knowing  you,  I  know  you  will  put 
it  through  and  come  out  of  it  with  your  colours  flying. 
Meanwhile,"  the  clear  eyes  came  back  to  focus ; 
"  hang  on  to  Brenton." 

"  If  I  can." 

"  As  long  as  you  can,  I  mean.  The  time  may  come 
when,  like  myself,  you  '11  have  to  let  him  go.  In  the 
mean  time,  though,  he  is  worth  the  holding." 

"  Brenton  is  pure  gold,"  Reed  said  quietly.  "  I 
have  known  him  for  many  years." 

But  his  companion  shook  his  head. 

"  Gold,  if  you  will ;  but  not  the  purest.  There  is 
a  dash  of  alloy  we  may  as  well  admit,  at  the  start. 
Else,  it  will  only  muddle  things,  later  on.  Brenton 
is  good  stuff,  but  a  little  weak.  There  's  something  in 
him  that  always  will  make  him  stumble  and  fall  down 
just  short  of  his  ideals." 

"  Naturally,  being  human,"  Opdyke  assented  rather 
dryly.  "  For  that  matter,  Whittenden,  which  one 
of  us  does  not?  " 

But  Whittenden  made  no  answer.  His  hands 
clasped  now  at  the  back  of  his  head,  his  eyes  were 
resting  thoughtfully  upon  the  bright,  brave  face 
before  him,  a  thinner  face  than  it  had  been  used  to 
be,  more  hollow  about  the  temples  where  the  wavy 
hair  clung  closely;  upon  the  swaddled  figure  which, 
only  a  year  before,  had  tramped  the  Colorado  moun 
tains,  lording  it  over  many  men.  And  now,  to  the 
burden  of  his  own  that  Reed  was  bearing,  he  had 
added  the  responsibility  of  watching  over  Brenton, 


THE    BRENTONS  281 

of  guarding  Brenton's  weakness  with  his  own  great 
strength.  Was  it  just  and  right  to  thrust  this  second 
burden  on  to  Opdyke?  However,  self-forgetfulness 
comes  best  by  focussing  all  one's  energy  upon  the 
victim  next  in  line;  and  Reed  Opdyke,  just  at  the 
present  crisis,  needed  nothing  else  one  half  so  much 
as  self-forgetfulness.  Nevertheless,  the  pity  of  it  all, 
the  seeming  heartlessness,  surged  in  on  Whittenden. 
It  would  have  been  far  easier  for  him  to  have  tried 
to  lighten  Opdyke's  burden  than  to  increase  its 
heaviness.  But  ease  was  not  the  main  thing,  after  all. 

Suddenly  he  flung  himself  forward  in  his  chair, 
and  put  his  two  hands  down  upon  the  straight,  lean 
shoulders  underneath  the  rug. 

"  Reed,"  he  said,  with  an  abruptness  he  did  not 
often  show  to  any  one ;  "  if  one  man  ever  loved 
another,  it 's  I  with  you.  For  God's  sake,  then,  don't 
let  the  time  ever  come  between  us  when  I  must  stop 
being  of  some  little  use  to  you,  as  I  've  just  had  to  do 
in  the  case  of  Brenton." 

But,  even  while  he  spoke,  he  knew  there  was  no 
need  for  Opdyke's  prompt  reply,  — 

"  I  fancy  it  never  would  come  to  that  between  the 
two  of  us.  We  've  faced  too  many  bad  half-hours 
together.  If  only  I  could  —  " 

Whittenden  understood.  He  rose,  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  turned  away  and  tramped  across  the 
room. 

"  You  always  have,  old  man ;  now  more  than  ever. 
And,  every  now  and  then,  we  parsons  need  it,  need 
to  be  plucked  out  of  our  studies  and  set  down  face  to 
face  with  life.  It 's  because  I  'm  owing  you  so  much 
that  I  'd  like  to  square  up  the  account  a  little.  Reed, 


282  THE    BRENTONS 

I  'm  glad  you  sent  for  me,  no  matter  if  the  reason  was 
an  ugly  one." 

And  then,  quite  of  his  own  initiative,  he  went  away 
in  search  of  Ramsdell.  All  at  once  there  had  swept 
over  him  the  memory  of  their  talk,  the  night  before, 
and  the  memory  overwhelmed  him  with  its  tragedy. 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-THREE 

"YES,  he  sent  for  me,  about  nine  o'clock."  Doctor 
Keltridge,  sitting  in  the  window  seat  beside  Opdyke, 
swung  his  heels  like  a  boy,  in  gleeful  recollection. 
"  Of  course,  it  was  sotto  voce,  as  it  were,  for  he 's  the 
king  pin  of  the  Christian  Science  row,  and  it  never 
would  do  to  let  it  get  about.  When  I  got  there,  I 
found  him  all  doubled  up  with  asthma,  wheezing 
like  a  grampus.  '  Damn  it,  man,'  he  said,  as  soon  as 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  me ;  'I  've  been  praying  since 
six  o'clock,  and  I  'm  getting  worse,  every  minute ! 
Give  me  something,  quick,  or  I  shall  die.' " 

And  then  the  doctor  went  off  into  a  roar  of  laughter 
over  this  latest  victory  of  medicine. 

"  He  came  out  all  right?  " 

"  Of  course.  People  don't  die  of  asthma ;  at  least, 
not  in  his  stage.  They  only  get  beastly  uncomfort 
able.  I  had  him  asleep,  within  an  hour." 

"  Yes,  and  next  time?  "  Opdyke  inquired. 

"  He  '11  go  through  the  same  rigmarole  again.  I 
suppose,  when  the  fit  comes  on,  he  will  telephone  to 
headquarters  for  some  sort  of  absent  treatment. 
What  charms  me  is  the  way  those  fellows  seem  to  turn 
on  the  same  tap,  whatever  the  disease.  A  child  down  in 
Oak  Street  fell  into  boiling  water,  only  just  the  other 
day.  The  neighbours  heard  him  shrieking,  and  finally 


284  THE    BRENTONS 

they  telephoned  to  me.  When  I  went  into  the  house, 
the  poor  little  sinner  was  writhing  all  over  the  bed 
and  howling  with  the  pain.  Beside  the  bed,  knitting 
a  purple  tippet,  sat  a  healer,  giving  treatment,  while 
she  worked." 

"  Fact?  " 

"  I  can  produce  affidavits,"  Doctor  Keltridge  an 
swered  grimly.  "  What 's  more,  I  am  going  to  do  it 
soon.  They  can  make  fools  of  themselves,  if  they 
choose  —  only  the  dear  Lord  got  ahead  of  them,  and 
did  it  first;  but,  while  I  live  to  fight,  they  shall  not 
butcher  their  little  babies." 

Reed  nodded  his  approval.    Then,  — 

"  What  did  you  do  in  this  case?  "  he  inquired,  with 
more  than  a  show  of  interest. 

"  Called  in  a  policeman  to  see  fair  play.  As  it  hap 
pened,  he  had  a  child  of  his  own,  so  he  fell  to  work  in 
earnest.  We  turned  out  the  woman,  packed  off  the 
family  into  the  next  room,  and  went  to  work  with  oil 
and  cotton.  I  'm  afraid  it  was  too  late  to  do  much 
good.  If  it  was,  though,  I  '11  promise  you  I  '11  make 
Rome  howl." 

"  Can  you?  "  Reed  asked  practically. 

"  At  least,  I  can  try.  As  I  say,  I  'm  fond  of  babies ; 
they  have  so  much  potential  humanity  bottled  up  in 
side  of  them.  I  will  not  have  them  slaughtered,  if  I 
can  help  it."  Then,  to  all  seeming,  he  digressed 
sharply.  "  By  the  way,  Reed,  have  you  seen  the 
Brenton  baby?  No;  of  course  you  haven't.  It's 
five  months,  now,  ugly  as  sin,  and  the  brightest  little 
youngster  you  ever  set  your  eyes  on." 

Opdyke  stirred  himself  to  a  show  of  interest  that 
was  far  from  genuine.  He  never  had  felt  himself 


THE    BRENTONS  285 

especially  drawn  to  babies ;  they  seemed  to  him  mussy 
and  invertebrate.  In  fact,  he  realized  with  disconcert 
ing  suddenness,  they  shared  some  of  his  own  least 
lovely  attributes.  However,  whether  the  subject  in 
terested  him  or  not,  he  would  keep  it  up  as  long  as  he 
could,  for  the  simple  sake  of  lengthening  out  the 
doctor's  visit.  Therefore  he  said,  — 

"  Brenton  is  immensely  pleased  with  it." 

"  Well  he  may  be.  The  baby  is  a  charming  little 
beggar,  full  of  ingratiating  tricks,  and  anybody  knows 
Brenton  needs  everything  of  that  kind  he  can  get." 
Then  swiftly  the  doctor  brought  his  digression  to  a 
focus.  "  Well,  that 's  just  a  case  in  point,"  he  said 
triumphantly. 

Opdyke  laughed. 

"  Really,  doctor,  I  'm  afraid  I  don't  quite  follow," 
he  said. 

"  Your  fault,  boy.  You  've  not  been  paying  proper 
attention  to  me ;  you  were  off  on  a  sidetrack  of  your 
own  laying.  I  was  talking  about  the  Brenton  baby 
and  its  chances  to  get  fair  play,  especially  when  it 
comes  to  teeth." 

Light  dawned  on  Opdyke. 

"  Oh,  I  see.  You  mean  Mrs.  Brenton  may  take  a 
hand?" 

"  Morally  sure.  It  's  her  child,  too,  worse  luck ! 
There  is  no  legal  help  for  the  bad  matter  —  yet.  She 
will  insist  upon  it  that  sin  has  a  claim  upon  the  child, 
and  advise  it  to  hoist  itself  above  the  sin." 

"  Is  she  such  a  —  r 

The  doctor  interrupted,  less  out  of  charity  for  Mrs. 
Brenton  than  from  his  own  impatient  testiness. 

"  Wait  and  see,  boy.     Wait  and  see.     It  is  quite 


286  THE    BRENTONS 

evident  that  she  's  a  gone  case,  that  nothing  can  save 
her.  Sometimes,  I  even  shudder  for  her  husband." 

"Brenton?    He 's  immune." 

"  There  's  never  any  telling.  She  and  her  friends 
probably  have  been  at  work  with  pick  and  shovel,  for 
months,  trying  to  undermine  his  foundations.  They 
are  an  insidious  crew,  Reed,  totally  insidious.  If  a 
man  is  the  least  bit  nervous,  their  absent-treatment 
methods  get  in  their  work  with  a  fatal  effect  sometimes. 
I  've  been  watching  them  for  years.  They  mine  and 
countermine,  until  it  is  n't  safe  to  predict  who  is  im 
mune  and  who  is  n't.  For  all  either  of  us  know,  you 
may  be  doomed  to  be  the  next  victim.  If  you  are, 
though,  send  for  me.  I  '11  cure  you  of  it,  if  it  takes  a 
dose  of  lysol.  Well,  good  bye,  boy.  I  '11  drop  in 
again,  within  a  day  or  so." 

The  doctor  went  his  way,  flinging  back  a  trail  of 
chaff  as  long  as  his  voice  could  carry  to  the  room 
above,  a  room  curiously  dim  and  still,  it  seemed  to 
him,  as  he  came  out  into  the  strident  sunshine  of  the 
July  day.  Once  in  the  street,  moreover,  and  safely 
out  of  range  of  Opdyke's  windows,  his  fun  dropped 
from  him,  and  he  shook  his  sturdy  shoulders,  as  if  he 
were  trying  to  shake  them  free  from  an  ugly,  yet  in 
visible,  burden. 

"  There  's  a  change  there,"  he  muttered  to  himself ; 
"  and  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  can  analyze  it.  It 's  a 
curious  sort  of  settling  down  of  the  boy's  whole 
nature,  as  if  he  had  thrown  off  some  maddening  strain 
or  other,  as  if  he  were  getting  some  new  sort  of  grip 
upon  himself.  I  wonder  what  it  is.  He  's  not  better, 
nor  worse;  it  can't  be  his  health,  then.  Bodily,  he 
is  just  about  holding  his  own ;  nervously,  he  is  steady- 


THE    BRENTONS  287 

ing.  I  believe  I  '11  talk  it  up  with  Olive ;  he  may 
have  given  her  a  clue." 

Olive,  however,  questioned,  had  no  ideas  upon  the 
subject.  She  too  had  noticed  the  change,  had  felt  it, 
rather;  it  was  too  slight  really  to  be  noticed.  She 
had  wondered  at  it.  It  was  as  if  Opdyke  were  slowly 
tightening  all  his  contacts  with  what  of  life  there  still 
was  left  to  him,  determining  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
matter,  and  to  extract  all  the  enjoyment  he  was  able 
out  of  his  narrowing  surroundings. 

Reason  about  the  cause  of  this  as  Olive  would,  she 
could  not  fathom  it.  Was  Opdyke  merely  sickening 
of  the  individual  members  of  his  scanty  calling  list, 
and  seeking  to  increase  its  variety?  Or  was  he  slowly 
gathering  up  some  of  the  broken  ties,  ready  for  the 
day  when  once  more  he  should  leave  his  prison  and 
walk  out  among  them,  a  free  man?  Of  two  things, 
though,  Olive  was  assured.  The  change  had  started 
a  good  two  months  earlier,  had  dated,  as  nearly  as 
she  could  reckon  backwards,  from  the  time  of  Whit- 
tenden's  brief  visit.  And  the  change,  whatever  else 
its  alterations  in  the  life  of  Opdyke,  had  made  not  one 
grain  of  difference  with  their  friendship.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  to  Olive  now  and  then  that  Opdyke  turned  to 
her  society  the  more  eagerly  after  a  protracted  season 
of  receiving  varied  calls.  However,  well  he  might 
turn  to  Olive !  It  was  fifteen  months,  now,  since  his 
accident,  fifteen  months  that  the  brace  of  New  York 
surgeons  had  professed  their  inability  to  predict  a 
future.  Uncertainty  like  that  is  bound  to  tell  on  any 
man ;  and,  throughout  it  all,  Olive  Keltridge  never 
once  had  failed  him. 

That    Opdyke    was    renewing,    after    his    limited 


288  THE    BRENTONS 

fashion,  many  of  his  old  associations  was  a  fact 
evident  to  the  whole  town.  The  knowledge  that  he 
was  lowering  his  year-long  barricade,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  brought  to  his  door  a  horde  of  visitors  bound 
to  be  more  or  less  unwelcome.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
on  one  pretext  or  another,  nine  tenths  of  them  were 
turned  away.  Ramsdell  saw  to  that.  Despite  his 
misplaced  aspirates,  he  possessed  a  perfect  genius  for 
uttering  gracious  fibs  with  a  totally  impenetrable 
smile  of  deprecation.  Moreover,  he  knew  from  long 
experience  Reed's  choice  in  people,  and  he  read 
strangers  keenly.  Therefore  more  than  one  potential 
visitor,  moved  by  a  combination  of  curiosity  and 
benevolence,  was  assured  that  "  Mr.  Hopdyke  'as  'ad 
a  very  bad  night,  and  is  just  gone  off  to  sleep," 
although  Dolph  Dennison's  coat  tails  or  Olive  Kelt- 
ridge's  linen  skirt  might  have  been  vanishing  through 
the  doorway  as  the  less  welcome  guest  came  in  at  the 
front  gate.  In  spite  of  the  moral  certainties  of  the 
later  guest,  it  was  impossible  to  prove  that  Ramsdell 
was  lying  flagrantly.  One  could  only  smile,  and  hand 
in  a  card,  with  the  agreeable  surety  that  it  would 
be  referred  to  the  upstairs  potentate  and  pigeonholed 
in  Ramsdell's  retentive  memory  as  ticket  for  admission 
later  on,  or  else  a  permanent  rejection  label,  past  all 
argument  or  gainsaying. 

Prather,  the  novelist,  was  one  of  the  first  names  on 
the  lengthening  list  of  those  who  were  to  be  admitted 
at  all  sorts  of  hours.  Reed  Opdyke  accepted  him  in 
mirthful  gratitude  to  the  Providence  which  had  ar 
ranged  so  equable  a  quid  pro  quo.  Prather  was 
manifestly  out  for  copy,  despite  his  constant  dis 
avowals  of  what  he  termed  an  envious  slander  hatched 


THE    BRENTONS  289 

by  Philistine  minds.  Reed  Opdyke's  sense  of  humour 
was  still  sufficiently  acute  to  assure  him  that  there 
was  every  possibility  that,  at  some  more  or  less  remote 
period,  he  would  find  a  full-length  portrait  of  himself 
in  Prather's  pages,  a  portrait  all  the  more  easily 
recognizable  by  reason  of  the  disguises  which  would 
draw  attention  to  the  essential  human  fact  hidden 
behind  their  veils.  On  the  other  hand,  however, 
Prather  himself  was  offering  to  Reed  no  small 
amusement.  To  a  man  used  to  the  wide  spaces  of  the 
mountain  landscapes,  to  the  vast  secrets  hidden  within 
the  bowels  of  the  mines,  it  seemed  little  short  of  the 
incredible  that  any  human  being  at  all  worthy  of  the 
name  could  be  so  infinitely  fussy  over  trifles,  could 
wear  himself  to  shreds  over  framing  a  bit  of  repartee, 
could  spend  a  tortured  morning,  reducing  to  the  limits 
of  a  rhythmic  paragraph  the  illimitable  glories  of  the 
earth  and  sky.  And  the  ways  by  which  he  sought  to 
carry  out  his  achievement !  These  baffled  any  compre 
hension  born  of  Opdyke's  brain. 

The  day  after  the  doctor's  expressed  anxiety  as 
concerned  the  Brenton  baby,  Prather,  coming  to  call, 
was  more  than  ordinarily  specific. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  tired  to  death,"  he  said,  as 
he  sat  down  at  Opdyke's  side,  hitched  up  his  trousers 
to  prevent  unseemly  bagging  and  smoothed  his  coat 
into  position. 

"  Working?  "  Reed  queried. 

"  Like  a  dog.  At  least,  that 's  the  accepted  phrase. 
The  fact  is,  my  terrier  snored  aloud,  all  the  time  I  was 
about  it.  No.  I  assure  you,  I  did  n't  read  my  stuff 
to  him,  as  I  went  on."  And  Prather  paused  to  laugh 
merrily  at  his  own  humour.  Indeed,  it  was  his  own 


290  THE    BRENTONS 

appreciation  of  his  humour  which  led  him  to  his  fre 
quent  calls  on  Reed,  for  the  little  man  was  generous 
at  heart,  and  loath  to  waste  a  really  clever  thing,  when 
it  might  be  doing  untold  good.  "  But  still,"  he  went 
on ;  "  it  shows  the  fallacy  of  the  phrase.  I  work 
like  a  dog,  and  the  real  dog  slumbers.  Good  joke, 
that!  But,  for  a  fact,  I  have  been  working." 

"  Another  novel  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  tell  the  publishers  it  must  be  my  swan 
song.  Really,  I  am  getting  an  old  man.  But  they 
refuse  to  see  it ;  I  expect  they  will  keep  me  in  harness 
till  I  am  —  in  my  dotage,"  he  added,  with  a  reckless 
disregard  of  any  possible  comment  which  the  phrase 
might  call  up  in  Opdyke's  mind. 

Opdyke  was  proof  against  temptation.     Instead,  — 

"  How  are  you  getting  on?  "  he  asked. 

"  Very  well ;  very  well  indeed,  considering  my 
breakfast,"  Prather  responded  unexpectedly.  "  I 
have  done  seventeen  hundred  words,  to-day." 

"Really?"  Opdyke's  accent  concealed  the  fact 
that  he  had  no  idea  whether  the  record  was  great  or 
small.  Then  he  yielded  to  his  curiosity.  "  But  what 
has  your  breakfast  to  do  about  it,  Prather?  " 

The  little  novelist  settled  himself  more  deeply  in 
his  chair,  and  caressed  his  small  mustache  with  two 
small  hands  which  totally  failed  to  conceal  the  smile 
behind  them. 

"  I  was  hoping  you  would  ask  the  question,  my  dear 
fellow.  It 's  a  new  idea  of  mine,  and,  really,  I  am  not 
at  all  ashamed  of  it.  Clever,  I  call  it,  do  you  know," 
he  added,  with  rising  enthusiasm.  "  In  the  old  days, 
when  I  was  a  callow  beginner,  I  used  to  eat  at  random. 
Deuce  knows  the  messes  it  kicked  up,  too,  with  my 


THE    BRENTONS  291 

plots !  Now  I  know  better.  I  fit  my  meals,  my  break 
fast  above  all,  to  the  kind  of  chapter  I  have  ahead 
of  me.  When  I  need  to  be  analytic,  I  eat  beans  and 
certain  cereals,  and  drink  black  coffee  very  hot  and 
very  fast.  Before  a  love  scene,  I  eat  curried  things  or 
else  put  on  the  stronger  kinds  of  sauces.  For  the 
final  parting  of  the  lovers,  I  even  have  used  both.  And 
then  for  tragedy,  for  utter  grief,  I  take  to  cold  things, 
cold  things  rather  underdone,  if  possible.  My  wife 
is  a  great  help  to  me,  in  all  this  planning.  She  ad 
mires  my  work  tremendously;  most  women  do,  and 
she  has  helped  me  work  the  theories  out."  Suddenly 
he  brought  himself  up  with  a  round  turn  that  left  him 
facing  Opdyke.  "  Opdyke,"  he  said  abruptly ;  "  you 
ought  to  have  a  wife." 

"  But  I  don't  write  any  novels,"  Reed  protested, 
a  trifle  blank  at  the  swift  attack. 

"  No ;  but  you  may.  You  Ve  had  experiences,  and 
you  've  any  amount  of  time,"  Prather  argued  kindly. 
"  I  'd  help  you  get  a  start,  you  know.  And  then, 
besides,  you  would  find  it  so  very  comforting." 

"The  novel?" 

"  No ;  the  wife.  She  could  take  Ramsdell's  place, 
you  know." 

Reed  chuckled. 

"  She  would  need  to  be  a  lusty  Amazon,  Prather,  if 
she  took  the  contract  of  lugging  me  about." 

But  Prather  waved  his  hand  in  circles  that  were 
intended  to  be  explanatory. 

"  Not  a  bit,  Opdyke ;  not  a  bit,"  he  said,  with 
effervescent  cheer.  "  It  would  take  you  a  little  while 
to  get  her,  don't  you  know ;  and,  by  that  time,  you  'd 
be  up  and  about,  really  almost  as  well  as  ever.  And 


292  THE    BRENTONS 

there  are  things,  you  know,  things  about  your  buttons 
and  your  meals,  that  nobody  but  a  wife  can  ever 
manage  properly.  Take  my  advice,  Opdyke,  the 
advice  of  a  veteran,  and  go  about  it.  Then,  when 
you  're  on  your  feet  again,  you  '11  have  her  ready  to 
look  out  for  you." 

Reed  smiled  rather  inscrutably  to  himself. 

"  Plenty  of  time,  Prather,"  he  said. 

"  No,  no."  Prather  rose.  "  Best  be  about  it  soon. 
You  '11  find  it  makes  the  greatest  difference  with  you. 
Besides,  as  I  say,  it  is  time  you  went  about  it,  or  you 
will  get  on  your  legs,  the  same  lonely  bachelor  you 
were  when  you  went  off  them.  And  Doctor  Keltridge 
says  that  you  are  gaining  fast." 

Reed  looked  up  suddenly,  incisively. 

"  Did  Doctor  Keltridge  say  that?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Well,  not  in  those  exact  words ;  but  that  was  the 
burden  of  his  song,  the  motif  of  his  story,  if  I  may 
speak  so  shoppishly."  Again  Prather's  hand  sought 
his  mustache.  "  It  is  quite  evident  to  everybody, 
Opdyke,  that  you  are  on  the  gain." 

Reed  Opdyke  watched  him  out  of  sight.     Then,  — 

"  Is  it?  "  he  said  a  little  bitterly.  "  I  wonder  why 
his  everybody  must  needs  exclude  me." 

Next  day,  Olive  gone  and  no  one  else  in  prospect, 
Reed  lay  staring  out  through  the  open  window  into 
the  green  trees  on  the  lawn,  staring  listlessly,  with 
no  especial  thought  of  envy  for  the  birds  hopping 
among  the  branches.  Indeed,  even  to  Reed  himself, 
that  was  the  most  tragic  phase  of  the  whole  tragic 
situation:  that  his  hours  of  restless  longing  seemed 
to  have  come  to  a  final  end.  Always  too  sane  to 
waste  regrets  upon  futilities,  he  had  come  now  to  a 


THE    BRENTONS  295 

point  of  passive  acceptance  of  the  immutable  bad 
in  his  surroundings,  an  active  effort  only  to  snatch 
at  whatever  good  remained.  It  did  not  affect  his 
attitude  in  the  very  least  that,  nine  days  out  of  every 
ten,  he  had  to  take  a  spiritual  microscope  to  hunt  the 
good.  One  of  the  longest  lessons  is  the  learning  to 
pick  up  the  crumbs  of  comfort,  when  one  has  been 
used  to  munching  the  whole  loaf.  However,  Reed 
was  conning  the  lesson  steadily,  learning  it  by  slow 
degrees. 

This  time,  however,  he  was  more  occupied  in  study 
ing  how  best  to  face  certain  inevitable  bad  half-hours 
before  him  than  he  was  in  picking  any  crumbs  of 
comfort  from  their  prospect.  It  seemed  to  him  a 
little  bit  unfair,  now  that  he  knew  past  all  gainsaying 
what  the  future  held  for  him,  to  go  on  allowing  his 
parents  and  some  friends  —  well,  Olive,  if  one  must 
be  so  specific  —  to  continue  hoping  against  hope 
that  he  would  ever  be  well,  and  on  his  legs,  and  walk 
ing.  Out  of  his  own  experience,  Opdyke  knew  that  it 
is  uncertainty  which  kills.  Had  he  any  right  to  go 
on  in  silence,  and  not  end  the  suspense  once  and  for 
all?  Of  course,  it  was  the  place  of  the  surgeons  to 
utter  the  decree  of  condemnation.  However,  as  long 
as  they  were  not  sufficiently  astute  to  find  out  the 
truth  of  the  prospect,  then,  in  all  honour,  was  it  not 
up  to  him? 

There  was  no  longer  any  hope  of  his  recovery; 
that  he  knew  of  a  surety,  knew  as,  every  now  and 
then,  one  does  know  things  unprovable.  He  had  taken 
the  knowledge  pluckily,  albeit  it  had  told  on  him  more 
than  he  would  have  been  willing  to  confess.  It  would 
have  told  on  him  still  more,  though,  had  it  not  been 


294  THE    BRENTONS 

for  his  week  with  Whittenden.  All  that  week,  he 
had  clung  to  Whittenden,  as  the  drowning  man  clings 
to  the  life  raft.  In  the  end,  Whittenden  had  dragged 
him  to  the  shore.  And  now  it  was  his  own  turn  to 
do  as  much  for  his  parents,  and  for  Olive.  Yes, 
for  Olive.  Poor  Olive!  Yes,  she  was  bound  to  take 
it  hard. 

So  lost  in  thought  of  Olive  was  he  that  he  started 
violently,  when  he  heard  coming  up  the  stairway  to 
him  the  unmistakable  rustle  of  feminine  skirts.  He 
forgot  the  tree  tops  instantly,  forgot  his  questionings. 
Olive  was  coming  back  again.  Doubtless,  after  her 
frequent  custom,  she  was  returning  to  tell  him  some 
thing  that  she  had  forgotten.  He  turned  his  head 
expectantly.  Olive  would  have  been  welcome,  a  dozen 
times  a  day ;  she  was  the  one  person  in  the  world 
who  never  antagonized  him,  never  bored  him,  never 
tired  him  with  irrelevant  chatter.  Now,  without  in 
the  least  realizing  the  fact,  he  was  shaping  his  lips 
into  a  smile  of  eager  welcome.  Only  an  instant  later, 
the  smile  had  vanished,  and  there  had  come  into  his 
brave  brown  eyes  a  look  astonishingly  like  consterna 
tion. 

Not  Olive,  but  Katharine  Brenton,  stood  upon  his 
threshold ;  and,  as  Opdyke  was  too  well  aware,  for  the 
time  being  that  threshold  was  totally  unguarded. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOUR 

WITH  a  rustle  born  of  plenteous  starch,  a  quiver  of 
nodding  roses  on  her  hat  and  an  ultra-evident  aroma 
of  violet  preceding  her  coming,  Katharine  swept 
across  the  floor  and  halted  beside  Opdyke's  couch. 
Even  in  the  first  instant  of  keen  resentment  at  her 
appearing,  Opdyke  was  conscious  of  no  small  surprise 
at  beholding  her  so  well  dressed.  In  his  crass  igno 
rance,  he  had  yet  to  learn  that,  in  the  minds  of  the 
elect,  good  clothes  are  an  essential  weapon  in  contest 
ing  the  claims  of  sin-born  disease.  Indeed,  he  con 
fessed  to  himself  that,  had  Katharine  only  been  a 
shade  more  self-distrustful,  she  would  not  have  been 
a  bad  looking  woman.  It  was  very  plain,  however, 
that  even  the  salary  of  the  rector  of  Saint  Peter's 
would  not  hold  out  long  before  the  demands  made 
upon  it  by  the  rector's  lady's  wardrobe.  Moreover, 
it  was  a  little  bit  surprising  to  find  the  country  daisy 
expanded  to  the  limits  of  a  prize  sunflower  such  as 
this. 

"  You  must  remember  me,  Mr.  Opdyke,"  she  was 
saying  effusively.  "  Such  an  old,  old  acquaintance, 
you  know !  It  must  be  at  least  seven  or  eight  years, 
since  I  first  knew  you.  I  was  only  little  Katharine 
Harrison  then ;  I  remember  perfectly  how  shy  and 
gauche  I  was,  and  how  terrified  at  you.  Shall  I  sit 


296  THE    BRENTONS 

here  ?  Thank  you.  And  you  were  very  nice  to  me.  I 
often  tell  Scott  how  much  it  meant  to  me.  Really,  it 
was  my  first  introduction  to  the  big,  big  world." 

Opdyke  rallied  swiftly  to  this  unlooked-for  demand 
upon  his  social  instincts. 

"  No  one  ever  would  have  suspected  it  from  seeing 
you,  Mrs.  Brenton,"  he  assured  her,  with  manful 
falsity. 

She  crackled  her  starch  at  him,  with  a  buoyant 
pleasure  in  his  words. 

"  You  have  all  your  old  ingratiating  tricks  of 
speech,"  she  told  him.  "  Really,  nowadays,  you  ought 
to  be  steadying  down  a  little,  Mr.  Opdyke." 

"  And  thinking  on  my  latter  end  ?  "  he  queried, 
although  he  flushed  a  little  at  her  words.  "  It 's 
not  profitable  to  meditate  upon  a  blank  monotony, 
you  know." 

Swiftly  she  bent  forward,  resting  her  elbow  on 
her  white  linen  knee,  her  chin  on  her  white  silk  palm. 

"  But  why  let  it  be  monotonous  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Reed  made  a  wry  face,  ostensibly  at  his  own  situa 
tion,  actually  at  the  brutally  frank  question  from 
what  was,  in  fact,  a  total  stranger. 

"  I  really  don't  see  how  I  well  can  help  it,  Mrs. 
Brenton,"  he  said  quietly. 

Lifting  her  chin  from  her  palm,  she  clasped  her 
gloves  in  her  lap,  and  looked  down  at  her  host  with 
manifest  encouragement. 

"  Only  by  lifting  yourself  above  it,  Mr.  Opdyke," 
she  enlightened  him. 

Reed  smiled  grimly. 

"  I  'm  very  heavy ;  it  would  take  too  large  a  der 
rick,"  he  replied.  "How  is  Brenton,  to-day?" 


THE    BRENTONS  297 

"  Quite  as  usual,  thank  you.  Of  course,  we  both 
are  so  busy  that  I  see  comparatively  little  of  him," 
Katharine  said  serenely. 

Reed  caught  at  the  digression. 

"  Of  course.  I  suppose  the  youngster  keeps  you 
very  busy,  Mrs.  Brenton." 

"  Oh,  it  is  n't  the  baby.  I  have  a  wonderful  nurse 
for  him,  some  one  Doctor  Keltridge  recommended." 

Again  Reed  caught  at  the  chance  for  a  digression. 

"  Doctor  Keltridge  is  a  wonderful  man,"  he  re 
marked,  a  little  bit  maliciously. 

Too  late,  he  realized  his  blunder,  for  without  delay, 
Katharine  seized  the  opportunity  to  snap  back  to 
her  former  position. 

"  Yes,  after  his  fashion.  It  is  only  rather  sad  to 
see  so  broad  an  intellect  buried  under  the  masses 
of  old-time  tradition.  He  gives  a  strychnine  tonic 
when  we  others  would  merely  pour  ourselves  into 
the  gap,  and  fight  disease  with  mind." 

Opdyke's  brown  eyes  became  inscrutable. 

"  But  do  you  think  that  mind  can  do  the  business, 
Mrs.  Brenton?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,  if  we  apply  it  in  all  earnestness.  Of 
course,  one  must  first  believe;  then  the  rest  of  it 
is  easy." 

"  But,"  Opdyke's  eyes  were  still  inscrutable,  al 
though  his  accent  was  that  of  the  eager  student; 
"  do  you  think  that  one's  mind  always  matches  up 
to  the  size  of  the  disease?  I  should  suppose  that, 
just  now  and  then,  they  might  not  fit." 

"  Dear  Mr.  Opdyke,  there  is  always  the  Universal 
Mind  on  whom  we  are  allowed  to  call,  in  time  of 
need,"  Katharine  assured  him,  with  an  unction  that 


298  THE    BRENTONS 

made  Opdyke  long  to  pitch  her,  head  first,  starch 
and  all,  through  the  open  window  just  behind  her. 
No  wonder  Brenton  looked  about  all  in,  if  this  was 
the  sort  of  domestic  table  talk  dished  up  for  him ! 

There  was  a  short  pause,  broken  only  by  the  faint 
crackling  of  starchy  petticoats.  Then  Katharine 
unclasped  her  hands,  straightened  her  hat,  and 
clasped  her  hands  anew,  this  time  slightly  above  the 
region  of  the  belt. 

"  Mr.  Opdyke,"  she  said  gravely  then ;  "  some 
thing  within  me,  here,  urges  me  to  give  you  the 
message." 

"The — ?"  Reed  inquired  politely. 

"  The  message  of  our  faith.  When  I  came  in,  it 
was  my  only  idea  to  drop  in  on  you  and  cheer  you 
up  a  bit ;  but  now  — 

During  her  impressive  pause,  Opdyke  reflected  that 
it  was  plain  the  woman  was  lying  flagrantly,  that 
she  had  come  to  see  him  with  fell  purpose.  He 
loathed  that  purpose  absolutely;  he  resented  it  most 
keenly.  None  the  less,  the  one  course  open  to  him 
was  to  submit  as  little  ungraciously  as  he  was  able. 
No  moral  force  would  be  able  to  dislodge  his  guest ; 
and  Ramsdell  could  not  well  be  summoned,  to  pluck 
forth  the  rector's  lady  and  escort  her,  willy-nilly, 
to  the  outer  door. 

But  Katharine's  pause  had  ended. 

"  But  now  I  feel  that  it  would  be  wrong  for  me 
to  neglect  the  chance  to  sow  my  little  seed  in  the 
soil  so  plainly  harrowed  for  its  growth.  Mr.  Op- 
dyke,"  and  now  the  roses  trembled  with  her  earnest 
ness  ;  "  do  you  realize  at  all  the  meaning  of  the 
word  disease?  " 


THE    BRENTONS  299 

Reed  yielded  to  a  wayward  impulse  left  over  from 
his  boyhood. 

"  It  generally  is  supposed  to  be  connected  rather 
intimately  with  germs,  Mrs.  Brenton,"  he  assured 
her. 

"  By  no  means.  And  so  you  really  do  cling  to 
the  old,  old  fallacies?  It  seems  too  bad,  and  for 
such  a  man  as  you  are.  Most  of  us,  you  know,  have 
cast  them  over.  We  now  are  quite  convinced  that 
disease  is  but  another  name  for  sin  and  unbelief; 
that  the  universal  cure  lies  in  the  submission  of  one's 
will  to  the  dictates  of  the  Universal  Mind." 

"Really?  How  interesting!"  Opdyke's  courte 
ous  voice  lacked  none  of  the  symptoms  of  complete 
conviction. 

Katharine  leaned  a  little  nearer. 

"  Mr.  Opdyke,  little  as  you  may  believe  it,  phys 
ical  disease  has  no  real  existence." 

"  Indeed?  "  Reed  queried  politely,  quite  as  if  the 
question  had  no  personal  significance  for  him. 

"  Not  at  all.  It  only  shows  the  inherent  weakness 
of  the  one  who  believes  himself  an  invalid." 

This  time,  Reed  felt  himself  suddenly  turning 
balky. 

"Oh,  I  say!"  he  protested. 

Katharine  laid  a  steadying  hand  upon  the  couch, 
and  Opdyke  eyed  the  steadying  hand  much  as  if  it 
had  been  a  toad. 

"  Mr.  Opdyke,  even  in  so  sad  a  case  as  yours,  the 
remedy  is  quite  within  your  hands,"  she  told  him 
gravely. 

Reed's  sense  of  humour  came  back  again  to  his 
relief. 


300  THE    BRENTONS 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out?  "  he  asked  her,  tak 
ing  his  eyes  from  the  potential  hopping  toad  to  rest 
them  on  the  face  before  him,  a  face  serenely  smug 
with  the  consciousness  of  its  own  sanctification. 

"  If  you  would  only  trust  and  believe,  would  throw 
your  whole  nature  into  tune  with  spiritual  law  and 
order,  you  could  get  up  off  from  that  couch,  to 
morrow,  and  walk  down  to  the  post  office  and  back 
again." 

Reed  lost  the  great  essential  fact,  unhappily,  in 
gloating  over  the  finale.  Why  did  n't  the  woman  say 
the  butcher  shop,  and  done  with  it,  since  she  was 
so  set  upon  a  rhetorical  slump  of  some  sort?  How 
ever,  he  smothered  his  interest  in  the  detail,  and 
went  back  again  to  the  central  fact. 

"  It  only  rests  with  you  how  long  you  are  to  lie 
here,  Mr.  Opdyke,"  Katharine  was  reiterating  sol 
emnly,  yet  with  the  same  carefully  manufactured 
smile  that  had  appeared  upon  her  lips  simultane 
ously  with  the  first  expressions  of  her  creed. 

Reed  experienced  a  sudden  wave  of  physical 
nausea,  as  he  watched  it. 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  believe  you,  Mrs.  Brenton," 
he  said  dryly.  "  Unfortunately,  it  is  quite  im 
possible." 

Katharine  did  her  best  to  make  her  smile  more 
luminous. 

"  You  think  so,  Mr.  Opdyke?  So  long  as  you  will 
not  believe,  you  will  not  throw  off  your  weakness  of 
the  body.  You  must  face  disease,  not  yield  to  it. 
You  must  lift  yourself  above  it,  must  plant  your 
feet  upon  it  in  firm  disdain,  and,  using  it  as  a  foot 
stool,  arise  from  its  ugly  foundations  to  a  perfect 


THE    BRENTONS  301 

and  sinless  state  of  health."  Again  she  paused,  and 
fixed  her  rapt  gaze  upon  his  face  which  slowly  was 
reddening  and  stiffening  into  something  closely  akin 
to  a  blinding  rage.  "  Mr.  Opdyke,  believe  me :  your 
poor,  broken  body  is  only  the  outer  guise  of  your 
erring  mind.  Dismiss  your  error;  throw  yourself 
unresistingly  into  the  vast  and  placid  pool  of  the 
Cosmic  Ego,  and  you  will  arise  from  your  bed  of 
pain,  a  cured  and  healthy  man." 

A  little  vein  beside  Reed's  temple  swelled  slightly 
and  began  to  throb.  It  seemed  to  him  that  this 
impossible  woman  was  tearing  his  nerves  apart  in 
a  remorseless  effort  to  get  at  the  inmost  secrets  of 
his  consciousness.  By  all  the  laws  of  self-preserva 
tion,  he  had  every  right  to  drive  her  from  the  room. 
By  all  the  laws  of  chivalrous  courtesy,  he  must  lie 
there,  prostrate,  at  her  mercy,  and  listen  to  her 
with  an  unflinching  smile,  until  the  wheels  of  her 
enthusiasm  should  run  down  —  if,  indeed,  they  ever 
did. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Mrs.  Brenton,"  he  was  beginning 
as  suavely  as  he  was  able. 

Katharine,  however,  interrupted  him. 

"  Mr.  Opdyke,"  she  demanded,  with  a  sort  of  re 
ligious  sternness;  "have  you  ever  faced  disease?" 

"  I  was  under  the  impression  that  I  had,"  he 
answered  curtly. 

"  Looked  it  steadily  between  the  eyes,  I  mean ; 
sought  to  impress  it  with  your  mental  dominance? 
Disease  is  a  coward,  we  are  told,  a  coward  who 
leaves  us,  when  it  knows  we  feel  no  fear  of  it.  If 
you  just  once  would  assert  your  manliness,  not  lie 
there,  supine,  and  —  " 


302  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Mr.  Hopdyke,"  Ramsdell's  voice  said  from  the 
threshold;  "Doctor  Keltridge  is  downstairs,  and  is 
very  anxious  to  see  you  about  something  most  him- 
portant.  What  shall  I  tell  'im?  " 

Reed,  his  temples  throbbing  now  in  good  earnest, 
smothered  a  Thank  God,  and  turned  to  smile  at 
Ramsdell.  Ramsdell  met  the  smile  with  impene 
trable  gravity.  None  the  less,  a  look  in  the  tail  of 
his  eye  set  Opdyke  wondering  whether,  indeed,  the 
message  from  the  doctor  was  quite  the  accident  it 
seemed. 

"  Send  him  up,  of  course,  Ramsdell.  Doctor 
Keltridge  is  too  busy  a  man  to  be  kept  waiting," 
he  said  briefly. 

To  his  extreme  surprise,  Katharine  took  the  hint 
and  rose. 

"  And  I  must  go,  Mr.  Opdyke.  It  has  been  such 
a  pleasant  time  for  me,  this  little  talk  with  you. 
Some  day,  perhaps  you  will  let  me  come  again. 
Meanwhile,  you  really  will  be  thinking  over  some 
of  the  things  I  've  said?  " 

"  Very  likely,"  Reed  answered  rather  shortly,  as 
once  more  the  hoptoad  of  a  hand  rested  unpleasantly 
close  to  his  shoulder.  "  It 's  not  a  thing  one  is 
likely  to  forget." 

"  I  am  so  glad.  How  do  you  do,  Doctor  Kelt 
ridge?"  she  added  archly.  "You  find  me  here,  in 
vading  your  province.  I  do  hope  you  won't  be  too 
angry."  And,  with  a  nod  to  Reed,  she  rustled  from 
the  room. 

It  was  plain,  however,  that  the  doctor  was  angry, 
very,  very  angry.  With  a  gesture  of  complete  dis 
gust,  he  thrust  aside  the  chair  in  which  she  had 


THE    BRENTONS  303 

been  sitting,  drew  up  another  and,  seating  himself, 
rested  his  long  fingers  on  Opdyke's  wrist,  while  his 
keen  eyes  searched  the  face,  more  flushed  now  than 
he  had  ever  seen  it,  the  veins  about  the  temples 
filled  to  bursting  and  pounding  madly,  the  wavy 
hair  above  them  clinging  tightly  to  the  brow.  As 
long  as  the  rustling  skirts  were  audible,  the  doctor 
sat  there,  silent,  his  face  blackening  more  with  every 
second.  When  at  last  the  front-door  screen  had 
clicked  behind  her,  he  spoke. 

"  Boy,  I  'd  have  given  a  thousand  dollars  to  have 
prevented  this.  That  damned  woman  has  been 
enough  to  put  you  back  a  dozen  months.  Yes,  yes. 
I  know  she  is  a  fool;  but  I  also  know  that  your 
nerves  are  n't  in  any  state  to  stand  her  infernal 
diatribes.  Been  telling  you  it  rested  with  you  alone 
to  choose  the  psychological  moment  for  going  out 
to  walk,  with  your  bed  strapped  on  your  back? 
Yes;  I  know,  I  tell  you.  No  use  for  you  to  deny. 
No  sense,  either,  for  that  matter.  You  owe  the 
woman  nothing;  and,  by  thunder,"  he  let  go  the 
wrist  and  gently  laid  his  hand  on  Opdyke's  throb 
bing  head ;  "  she  is  going  to  owe  you  a  good  deal. 
If  she  had  kept  on  much  longer,  you  'd  have  been 
a  case  for  a  hypodermic,  perhaps  worse.  How  the 
devil  did  she  get  up  here,  Rarnsdell?  " 

Ramsdcll,  from  the  foot  of  the  couch,  was  watch 
ing  Opdyke  with  the  dumb,  anxious  entreaty  of  a 
faithful  dog. 

"  Really,  I  could  n't  'elp  it,  sir.  Mr.  Hopdyke 
'ad  sent  me  of  an  errand.  When  I  got  back,  why, 
'ere  she  was,  a-going  it  as  bad  as  any  suffragette." 
Ramsdell  checked  himself  abruptly,  and  gave  a  dis- 


304  THE    BRENTONS 

creet  little  cough.  Then,  warned  by  something  in 
the  doctor's  face  that  he  could  proceed  with  perfect 
safety,  he  went  on  once  more.  "  As  I  came  hup  the 
stairs,  I  'eard  'er  telling  Mr.  Hopdyke  that  he  must 
harise  and  leave  'is  disease  be'ind  'im ;  and  hit  seemed 
to  me,  sir,  I  'd  best  telephone  to  you,  for  fear  he  'd 
be  doing  a  thing  so  rash,  and  'urt  'imself  for  ever. 
I  trust,"  he  now  addressed  himself  to  Opdyke ;  "  trust 
there  was  no  liberty  taken,  sir." 

Reed  laughed,  despite  the  fact  that  the  encounter 
with  Mrs.  Brenton's  new  theology  had  left  him  feel 
ing  most  ignobly  weak. 

"  So  that  was  it  ?  Ramsdell,  you  're  a  wily  fox. 
I  '11  see  you  don't  regret  it.  And  don't  worry.  I  'm 
all  right,  and  I  promise  you  I  won't  try  any  gym 
nastics  till  the  doctor  gives  me  leave."  Then,  Rams- 
dell  gone,  he  turned  to  the  doctor  in  a  sudden  wave 
of  self-surrender  which  the  older  man  found  exceed 
ing  pitiful.  "  Doctor,  am  I  a  futile  sort  of  chap,  or 
am  I  slowly  going  off  my  head?  The  woman  talked 
the  most  utter  rubbish ;  I  know  it 's  total  rot.  And 
yet  —  Doctor,"  and  the  brown  eyes  looked  up  into 
the  keen  eyes  above  them  with  an  appeal  before 
which  the  keen  eyes  veiled  themselves.  "  Doctor," 
Reed  added  a  bit  unsteadily ;  "  I  thought  I  had 
succeeded  in  getting  a  firm  grip  on  myself  once  for 
all ;  and  now  —  it 's  gone." 

In  the  end,  it  was  a  case  for  hypodermics,  that 
night,  the  first  time  for  almost  a  year.  The  doctor 
stayed  with  Reed  till  time  for  dinner;  then,  with 
an  absolute  casualness,  he  invited  Mrs.  Opdyke  to 
let  him  stay  and  dine  with  her  and  the  professor. 
Downstairs,  his  talk  was  cheery,  careless ;  no  one, 


THE    BRENTONS  305 

seeing  the  doctor  for  the  first  time,  would  have  sus 
pected  that  anything  was  on  his  mind.  The  pro 
fessor,  though,  knew  his  old  friend  better,  yet  he 
forebore  to  put  a  question.  He  knew  that,  when 
Doctor  Keltridge  was  quite  ready,  he  was  wont  to 
speak;  but  not  before. 

Doctor  Keltridge's  cigar,  smoked  in  Reed's  room, 
lasted  long,  that  night;  above  it,  the  doctor  was 
silent,  indolent,  and  yet  alert  to  every  change  in 
the  face  before  him.  At  nine  o'clock,  he  rose,  dived 
into  his  breast  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  little  case. 
An  instant  later,  he  had  bent  above  the  couch. 

"  Now,  Ramsdell,"  he  said  cheerily,  when  he  had 
once  more  tucked  the  rug  in  about  Opdyke's  arm; 
"  you  'd  better  get  this  fellow  into  bed  at  once.  If 
he  is  n't  sound  asleep,  inside  an  hour,  you  '11  know 
what  to  do.  A  good  night  to  you,  boy,  and  many 
thanks  for  your  educated  taste  in  tobacco.  What 
ever  you  do,  never  allow  your  supplies  to  run  low, 
or  you  '11  straightway  lose  a  good  half  of  your 
social  pull.  Good  night."  And,  with  a  nod  to 
Ramsdell,  he  was  gone. 

Opdyke  was  not  asleep  within  an  hour.  More 
over,  although  Ramsdell  did  know  what  to  do,  and 
did  it,  the  stroke  of  midnight  found  him  still  staring 
at  the  dark  with  burning  eyes,  while  the  pillowcase 
underneath  his  head  hissed  faintly  to  the  steady 
throbbing  of  his  temples.  The  noxious,  deadly 
poison  of  Mrs.  Brenton's  talk  had  made  its  insidi 
ous  way  through  and  through  his  system,  loosening 
its  carefully  maintained  tensions,  overthrowing  its 
balances,  stirring  up  all  the  old,  forgotten  dregs 
of  rebellious  restlessness  and  turning  them  into  his 


306  THE    BRENTONS 

blood.  It  mattered  nothing  that  Reed  Opdyke  rec 
ognized  the  fact  that  it  was  poison,  mattered  noth 
ing  that  he  despised  it  and  fought  against  it  with 
every  antidote  within  his  reach.  The  harm  was 
done;  it  would  take  long  and  long  to  undo  it, 
to  bring  him  back  to  his  old  mental  health  once 
more. 

Across  the  darkness,  his  life  seemed  to  him  to 
be  marching,  pageant-wise,  a  series  of  separated 
scenes.  They  started,  according  to  his  idea,  in  the 
faint  shaft  of  light  that  crept  in  to  him  through 
Ramsdell's  keyhole  —  for,  despite  all  orders,  the 
faithful  fellow  had  flatly  refused  to  put  himself  into 
bed  until  Opdyke  himself  should  be  snoring.  They 
started,  each  one  of  them,  in  the  narrow  thread  of 
light;  they  marched  slowly  across  the  blackness  of 
the  ceiling  above  his  head,  and  then  they  ranged 
themselves  along  the  opposite  wall,  and  lurked  there 
in  the  shadow,  leering  at  him.  In  each  one  of 
them,  moreover,  he  held  the  very  centre  of  the 
stage. 

He  saw  himself  a  student,  loitering  about  the 
elm-arched  campus,  lounging  above  a  table  in  the 
smoke-thick  air  of  Mory's,  sitting  in  Professor 
Mansfield's  study  and  gravely  discussing  with  him 
the  possibilities  included  in  Scott  Brenton.  He  saw 
himself  in  his  professional  school,  star  of  his  class, 
pampered  godling  of  his  mates.  He  saw  himself, 
his  fists  in  his  pockets  and  his  nose  to  the  tanging 
breeze,  striding  along  the  Colorado  mountain  sides, 
saw  himself,  lightly  poised  on  any  sort  of  a  con 
trivance  that  could  swing  from  a  rope's  end,  going 
down  into  the  darkness  of  the  mine.  Then  he  saw 


THE    BRENTONS  307 

himself  —  and,  as  he  looked,  his  eyes  were  steady 
—  scrambling  over  the  heaps  of  wreckage  towards 
the  stark  form  beyond. 

And  then  he  saw  himself  the  centre  of  a  group 
of  white-coated  surgeons,  with  Ramsdell's  face  be 
side  him,  Ramsdell's  curiously  gentle  arm  around 
his  shoulders.  He  saw  himself,  again  with  Ramsdell, 
this  time  at  home,  and  with  the  stanch  old  doctor 
at  his  other  side.  And  then,  all  at  once,  the  other 
figures  faded,  and  he  saw  himself  alone  with  Olive; 
saw  Olive,  daintily  alive  and  eager,  saw  her  merry 
mask  of  teasing  fun  which  never  really  covered  the 
pitiful  comprehension  underneath ;  saw  himself,  still, 
helpless,  a  wretched  compromise  between  death  and 
life,  answering  her  nonsense  with  laughing  lips,  but 
with  eyes  which,  however  brave,  yet  were  full  of 
an  insistent  appeal  for  something  that  she  alone 
could  give  him.  And  Olive  was  not  slow  of  under 
standing.  Oh,  God  — 

He  flung  his  arm,  the  arm  scarred  with  the  fresh 
pricks  of  the  useless  hypodermic  needle,  across  his 
burning  eyes,  his  throbbing  temples,  before  he 
finished  out  his  phrase.  Oh,  God  have  mercy! 
What  had  he,  albeit  dumbly,  allowed  himself  to  ask 
of  Olive?  What  right  had  he,  henceforward,  to 
call  himself  a  man,  or  honourable,  or  brave,  or 
anything  else  but  an  insufferably  selfish  cad,  that 
he  had  ever  once  allowed  one  such  instant  of  supine 
appeal  to  scar  the  surface  of  their  perfect  friend 
ship?  A  girl  like  Olive  was  not  for  such  a  man  as 
he  was  —  now.  Once,  it  might  have  been ;  but,  at 
that  time,  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  to  think  about 
it.  In  the  fulness  of  his  powers,  he  had  had  scant 


308  THE    BRENTONS 

time  for  women.  Now,  in  his  utter  weakness  — 
And  Olive  — 

The  thread  of  light  became  a  sudden  flood.  His 
hot,  wet  eyes  shrank  from  the  dazzle. 

"Did  you  speak,  sir?"  Ramsdell  inquired,  from 
the  nearer  threshold. 

Some  sudden  instinct  of  weakness  made  Opdyke 
long  for  the  touch  of  any  firm  and  friendly 
hand. 

"  No,  you  old  owl,"  he  answered.  "  Still,  now  you 
are  here,  do  you  mind  trying  to  straighten  me  out 
a  little?  Thanks.  That 's  very  good.  Now  go  to 
bed.  I  think  I  am  beginning  to  feel  sleepy." 

Ramsdell  obediently  vanished;  and  Opdyke,  shut 
ting  his  teeth  upon  his  mental  agonies,  lay  silent 
and  as  if  turned  to  stone.  With  a  supreme  effort  at 
self-control,  he  drove  the  pictures  from  the  shadowy 
wall;  he  banished  Olive  from  his  mind.  Instead, 
he  forced  himself  to  think  of  Whittenden,  of  the 
charge  that  Whittenden  had  laid  on  him  concerning 
Brenton.  It  had  seemed  a  bit  unfair  at  the  time; 
now,  looking  backward,  Opdyke  could  see  that,  as 
usual,  Whittenden  had  been  wise.  Responsibilities, 
such  as  that  one,  would  be  very  steadying.  The 
need  of  holding  the  next  man  fast  would  tighten  his 
grip  upon  himself.  After  all,  it  was  grip  he  needed; 
else,  he  would  be  a  futile  frazzle  of  humanity,  like 
Prather. 

With  an  inconsequential  snap,  poor  Reed's  brain 
was  off  again,  and  on  a  fresh  and  open  stretch  of 
road.  Then  suddenly  it  came  against  another  ob 
stacle.  Only  the  very  afternoon  before,  Prather 
had  broken  off  his  babble  to  advise  a  wife,  as 


THE    BRENTONS  309 

spiritual  plaster  for  all  of  this  world's  woe.  A 
wife !  And  for  him !  That  any  man  in  his  position 
and  with  his  outlook  could  harbour  for  an  instant 
an  idea  so  selfish !  And  even  Olive  — 

However,  this  time,  Ramsdell  did  not  hear. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-FIVE 

DOCTOR  KELTRIDGE  smoked  for  a  while  in  silence. 
Then,  - 

"  Opdyke  is  hunting  for  a  new  assistant,"  he  said. 

Brenton,  who  had  been  sitting  with  his  eyes  fastened 
to  the  rug  before  him,  looked  up  at  the  doctor. 
Looking,  his  gray  eyes  were  heavy,  their  light  tem 
porarily  extinct.  Indeed,  the  old  doctor,  watching 
him  intently  from  above  his  pipe,  wondered  a  little 
if  that  light  would  ever  come  again.  He  was  quite 
well  aware  that  it  burns  only  in  eyes  bent  hopefully 
upon  a  remote,  receding,  yet  conquerable  ideal.  Once 
extinguished,  it  is  well-nigh  impossible  to  kindle  it 
again. 

"What  is  that  for?"  Brenton  queried,  with  the 
utter  listlessness  of  a  man  whose  sole  absorption  is 
in  himself. 

"  A  variety  of  reasons,  I  suspect.  To  be  sure,  he 
himself  only  declares  one:  the  insistent  professional 
calls  on  his  time  from  outside:  books,  magazine 
articles,  lectures,  and  all  that.  It  is  wonderfully 
good  for  the  college  to  have  a  man  of  his  calibre 
on  its  list.  As  a  trustee,  it  is  my  notion  that  they  'd 
much  better  give  him  anything  he  happens  to  want, 
for  fear,  if  they  refuse,  he  '11  go  out  altogether." 

"  He  would  n't,"  Brenton  said  quickly. 

"  You  never  know,  in  a  case  like  that  of  Opdyke. 


THE    BRENTONS  311 

He  has  done  grand  work;  his  record  here  is  made 
and  done  with.  He  has  outside  calls  enough  to  fill 
up  his  time  to  the  limit  of  his  strength;  he  has 
enough  money  to  carry  him  in  comparative  luxury 
to  the  end  of  all  things,  even  if  he  never  — 

"  Professor  Opdyke  is  no  pot-boiler,"  Brenton  in 
terrupted.  "  It 's  not  money  that  he  counts ;  it 's 
the  thing  itself  he  's  after." 

"What  thing?"  the  doctor  asked,  with  seeming 
carelessness. 

Brenton  flashed  into  sudden  fire. 

"  The  finishing  out  his  work.  The  trying  to  add 
one  little  bit  to  the  sum  total  of  permanent  knowl 
edge.  The  kind  of  thing  you  do  yourself,  doctor, 
once  your  patients  give  you  time  to  get  away  from 
the  trail  of  their  beastly  aches  and  pains." 

The  doctor  eyed  his  companion  with  a  sort  of 
grim  amusement. 

"  That  last  phrase  sounds  suspicious,  Brenton," 
he  remarked.  "  Are  you  also  — 

Brenton  did  not  wait  for  him  to  finish  out  the 
question. 

"  No ;  I  am  not,"  he  snapped,  with  a  testiness  that 
would  have  been  a  healthy  mental  symptom,  had  it 
not  betrayed  the  fact  that  his  nerves  were  danger 
ously  on  edge. 

The  doctor,  still  watching  him  from  above  his  pipe, 
judged  it  would  be  well  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Besides,"  he  added  casually ;  "  I  fancy  that  Reed 
may  be  an  entering  factor." 

"Reed?" 

"  Yes,  with  his  father.  The  suspense  is  telling  on 
them  all,  telling  badly  on  the  professor.  From  the 


312  THE    BRENTONS 

point  of  view  of  the  family  physician,  I  believe  it  is 
any  amount  worse  than  accepting  even  a  surety  of 
the  worst." 

"What  do  you  call  the  worst?"  Brenton  asked 
flatly. 

"  That  Reed  would  have  to  lie  there  on  his  back, 
till  the  remotest  end  of  time." 

For  an  instant,  the  old  light  flared  up  in  Brenton's 
eyes.  Rising,  with  a  backward  thrust  of  his  chair 
that  sent  it  crashing  against  a  table,  he  tramped  the 
length  of  the  room  and  back  again. 

"  God  help  him !  "  he  said,  low.  "  You  think  that 
such  a  thing  is  possible?  " 

The  doctor  nodded  curtly.  He  loved  Reed  as  he 
would  have  loved  a  son  of  his  own,  and  it  hurt  him 
to  put  into  words  even  the  possibility. 

"  It  is  in  the  limits  of  the  possible,"  he  answered. 

Again  the  tramp  across  the  floor  and  back  again. 
Then  Brenton  burst  out  fiercely. 

"  And  I  can  sit  here  and  whimper  about  my  fate, 
that  I  am  the  square  peg  in  the  round  hole,  while  he 
—  Doctor  Keltridge,  you  don't  mean  it  has  come  to 
that?" 

"  Not  yet.  I  only  said,  what  we  all  must  know, 
that  it  is  on  the  cards.  No  one  can  tell  whether 
they  will  turn  up,  or  down.  Of  course,  the  fact  that 
the  rallying  comes  so  slowly  is  bound  to  make  us 
fear  that  the  injury  was  worse  than  we  thought  at 
first.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  almost  out  of  the 
question  to  judge  it  with  any  accuracy.  Do  what 
we  will,  we  can't  get  inside  Reed's  body,  and  see  for 
ourselves  just  what  reactions,  if  any,  are  going  on 
in  there.  I  wonder,  Brenton,"  the  doctor  faced  him 


THE    BRENTONS  313 

steadily ;  "  if  ever  it  has  occurred  to  you  that,  in  the 
last  analysis,  pure  science  is  often  baffled  by  the 
personal  equation  which  comes  into  it,  which  defies 
all  analysis,  and  which  upsets  the  whole  of  our  cal 
culations.  If  it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  Reed's 
ego  is  his  own  property,  not  ours,  we  could  have 
settled  this  point  about  his  future,  months  on  months 
ago.  Beyond  a  certain  limit,  though,  there  is  no  way 
for  us  to  tell  how  far  he  responds  to  our  experi 
mental  treatment.  If  his  muscles  do  twitch,  well  and 
good.  If  they  almost  twitch  and  don't,  no  mortal 
mind  outside  of  his  can  reckon  how  wide  the  falling 
short  has  been.  You  can  talk  about  pure,  abstract, 
impersonal  science,  till  the  moon  turns  to  an  Edam 
cheese.  You  can  no  more  grasp  the  initial  fact  of 
what  that  science  really  is,  than  you  can  follow  the 
example  of  the  athletic  cow.  There  's  always  the 
distorting  lens  of  one's  own  mind  to  be  taken  into 
consideration ;  quite  often  there  's  another  fellow's : 
the  eye-piece  of  the  compound  microscope,  and  the 
objective.  Take  them  away,  and  what  impression 
do  you  get?"  The  doctor  pulled  himself  abruptly 
out  of  his  harangue.  "  You  can't  get  any  science, 
without  the  muddling  addition  of  an  ego,  Brenton ; 
and,  moreover,  there  's  a  tentacle  or  two  of  every 
ego  that  sticks  out  beyond  the  edges  of  the  law,  and 
demands  a  separate  code  for  its  own  management. 
It  is  in  framing  that  separate  code  that  we  all  fall 
down." 

But,  to  his  regret,  Brenton  was  deaf  to  his 
harangue. 

"  You  think,"  he  was  repeating ;  "  that  it  may  end 
in  that?" 


314  THE    BRENTONS 

The  doctor  ruffled  his  hair  until  it  stood  on  end, 
rampant  and  tousled  as  a  corn-husk  mat. 

"  Good  Lord,  man !  A  doctor  does  n't  think 
things,"  he  said,  with  sudden  ire.  "  Moreover,  if  he 
did,  he  would  n't  say  them  out.  Else,  where  would 
his  patients  be?  You  can  frighten  any  man  to 
death,  by  offering  him  a  premature  glimpse  into  the 
next  decade.  One  day  at  a  time  is  enough  for 
most  of  us;  more  than  some  of  us  can  manage.  As 
for  Reed,  it  is  impossible  to  testify  at  present;  in 
the  end,  I  fancy,  he  will  be  the  chief  witness  for  the 
defence.  Meanwhile,  he  's  game.  You  don't  find  him 
maundering  supinely  about  his  latter  end.  No !  Do 
sit  down.  That  was  n't  a  back-hander,  aimed  at 
you,  Brenton.  I  hit  straight,  or  not  at  all.  I  wish 
I  could  give  you  a  tonic  that  would  take  away  a  little 
of  your  blamed  self-sensitiveness,  if  I  can  coin  the 
term.  You  're  as  unselfish  as  the  rest  of  them,  until 
you  get  hold  of  a  bit  of  impersonal  slander.  Then 
you  seize  it  in  your  arms,  and  hold  it  on  your  mental 
stomach  like  a  mustard  plaster.  It  does  n't  do  any 
good,  though.  It  hurts  like  thunder  in  the  time  of 
it,  and  it  plays  the  deuce  with  your  later  digestion." 

Obediently  Brenton  sat  down ;  or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  was  borne  down  by  the  weight  of  the 
doctor's  energetic  denunciation.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  he  had  found  the  doctor  in  such  a  mood  as  that. 
Mercifully,  Brenton  had  no  inkling  that  he  had 
brought  it  on  himself  by  his  prelude  to  the  talk.  It 
would  have  shocked  him  unspeakably,  had  it  dawned 
upon  him  that  Doctor  Keltridge,  within  himself,  was 
applying  profane  adjectives  to  the  spiritual  doubt- 
ings  of  his  rector.  It  would  have  astounded  him 


THE    BRENTONS  315 

beyond  all  words,  had  he  known  how  trivial  to  the 
doctor's  seasoned  mind  had  seemed  his  own  juggling 
touch  upon  the  rival  claims  of  Tweedledum  and 
Tweedledee.  Had  Brenton  held  within  himself  one 
tenth  of  Reed  Opdyke's  staying  power,  all  would 
have  come  out  right  in  the  end.  The  pieces  of  the 
puzzle  would  have  fallen  into  their  true  places.  In 
stead,  Scott  Brenton,  in  his  impatience,  was  appar 
ently  determined  to  chop  the  pieces  into  smaller  bits, 
and  then  to  deface  their  surfaces  almost  past  recog 
nition.  Therefore  it  had  seemed  to  Doctor  Keltridge 
the  one  way  of  escape  from  the  whole  pother  had 
been  opened  by  his  words,  which  he  now  repeated 
with  a  fresh  emphasis  that  he  hoped  would  finally 
impress  them  upon  Scott  Brenton's  ear. 

"  Yes ;  and  so,  with  all  this  complication  on  his 
hands,  the  professor  is  hunting  for  a  new  assistant." 

This  time,  Brenton  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"  Are  you  telling  that  fact  to  me,  for  any  especial 
reason,  doctor?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Yes,  to  my  shame,  I  am.  By  good  rights, 
Brenton,  I  ought  to  order  you  into  a  sanatorium, 
until  you  get  over  the  desire  to  make  an  idiot  of 
yourself.  I  doubt,  though,  if  it  would  do  any  good. 
I  fancy  that  your  case  is  chronic,  that  you  won't 
be  happy  till  you  've  muddled  your  intellectual  sal 
vation  according  to  your  own  notions.  If  that 's  the 
fact,  the  sooner  you  go  about  it,  the  better.  Your 
hanging  on  at  Saint  Peter's  is  only  so  much  wear 
and  tear  upon  your  nerves.  Ours,  too,  when  it  comes 
to  that.  One  does  n't  get  much  sanctification  out 
of  a  sermon  couched  in  glittering  generalities  and 
delivered  by  a  rector  with  a  crumpled  brow.  There- 


316  THE    BRENTONS 

fore  the  trustee  of  the  college  has  told  tales  to  the 
doctor,  and  the  doctor  is  hinting  the  gist  of  those 
tales  to  his  patient." 

"Do  you  think  I'd  fill  the  place?"  Brenton's 
voice  surprised  himself  by  its  unwonted  quivering  of 
eagerness. 

"  Depends  on  whether  you  get  the  chance,"  the 
doctor  parried.  "  Moreover,  your  getting  the  chance 
depends  on  what  you  think  about  your  taking  it. 
There  's  another  man  talked  about  for  the  position ; 
but  I  have  a  good  deal  of  say  in  the  matter,  and 
Opdyke  has  more.  He  considers  you  rather  a  genius 
in  his  line,  a  wasted  genius,  and  would  jump  at  a 
chance  to  have  you  put  in  under  him  as  instructor. 
What  do  you  think?" 

Brenton's  reply  came  without  an  instant's  hesi 
tation. 

"  I  will  take  it,  if  it 's  offered  me." 

"  You  know  it  will  shut  Saint  Peter's  door  to  you 
for  ever?  In  a  case  like  this,  one  can't  go  back 
again." 

"  I  know,"  Brenton  made  brief  assent. 

"  You  realize  all  you  are  giving  up  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  You  know  the  world  is  full  of  potential  Prathers ; 
and  you  also  know  what  your  wife  will  say?  Does 
she  understand  what  you  have  been  going  through?  " 

Brenton's  lips  stiffened. 

"  I  have  not  meant  to  keep  anything  back  from 
her.  How  far  she  has  grasped  all  it  has  meant  to 
me  —  However,  in  honour,  I  have  done  my  best." 

And,  despite  the  weakening  drop  of  his  voice  on 
the  final  phrases,  the  doctor  believed  him.  Believing 


THE    BRENTONS  317 

and  likewise  knowing  Katharine,  he  pitied  Brenton 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  After  all,  was  the 
fellow  quite  so  invertebrate  as  he  had  sometimes 
seemed  ? 

"  Well,  I  will  talk  to  Opdyke  first,  and  then  bring 
the  matter  up  before  the  rest  of  the  trustees.  There  's 
a  meeting,  early  in  October.  Best  not  do  anything 
until  that  is  over.  Then,  in  all  decency,  you  will 
have  to  give  a  little  time  to  Saint  Peter's.  You  can't 
well  bolt  off,  like  a  cook  in  a  tantrum.  Prepare  their 
Christmas  diet  for  them ;  and  then  go  into  this  other 
thing,  directly  after  mid-years." 

"  But,  feeling  as  I  do,  have  I  any  right  to  keep 
on  at  Saint  Peter's?  "  Brenton  queried. 

The  doctor  cut  his  query  short. 

"  Business  is  business,  no  matter  how  you  feel. 
That  curate  of  yours  is  as  futile  as  a  Persian  pussy 
in  a  ten-horse  plough.  It  takes  a  little  time  to  pick 
up  the  right  sort  of  a  new  man  for  a  church  like 
this;  you  have  no  right  to  leave  the  whole  plant  at 
loose  ends,  while  they  are  about  it,  just  because  your 
ego  has  a  pain  in  its  psychological  digestion.  People 
have  got  to  go  on  being  married  and  buried,  even  if 
you  can't  make  a  scientific  assay  of  the  doctrine  of 
the  Atonement.  Well,"  the  doctor  rose  and  emptied 
out  his  long-cold  pipe ;  "  that 's  all.  I  wish  you  luck, 
Brenton,  and  I  '11  help  you  all  I  can.  Whatever  I 
think  about  your  mental  calibre,  I  do  believe  that  you 
are  honest ;  and,  after  all,  that 's  the  main  thing  we 
all  are  trying  for.  Now  go  along,  and  talk  this 
matter  over  with  your  wife.  By  the  way,  how  is  the 
baby?" 

"  A  little  droopy  still.     It 's  not  too  easy  to  bring 


318  THE    BRENTONS 

him  out  of  it,  as  long  as  I  can  only  give  him  your 
stuff  on  the  sly,  when  Mrs.  Brenton  is  out  of  the 
room."  Brenton  cast  a  hasty  glance  at  his  watch. 
"  It 's  time  he  had  it  now.  1  must  be  going,"  he 
said  hurriedly,  and,  an  instant  later,  he  had  bolted 
from  the  room. 

The  doctor  listened  for  the  closing  of  the  door. 
Then  his  face  lost  a  little  of  its  keenness,  and  he 
sighed. 

"  It  must  be  the  very  devil  and  all  to  have  a  con 
science,"  he  remarked  at  the  four  walls  around  him. 
"  Thank  God  for  one  thing :  I  'm  immune." 

Filling  himself  a  fresh  pipe,  he  sat  himself  down 
to  its  enjoyment.  Half  way  through  it,  he  spoke 
once  more. 

"  That  woman  would  beat  the  Devil  in  a  game  of 
poker,  if  she  could  get  the  immortal  souls  of  men 
by  way  of  chips." 

But  the  only  immortal  soul  in  Katharine's  hands 
just  now  was  the  one  inside  her  baby  boy,  a  flimsy, 
fragile  little  chip  upon  the  tides  of  time.  However, 
it  would  not  be  Katharine's  fault,  if  time  were  not 
soon  exchanged  for  eternity. 

Not  that  Katharine  abused  the  child,  though;  not 
that  she  exactly  neglected  it.  She  chose  its  clothing 
and  food  with  a  proper  degree  of  care ;  she  consulted 
more  than  one  efficient  matron  of  Saint  Peter's  con 
gregation,  before  she  accepted  the  references  of  the 
nurse.  That  done,  she  left  the  child's  routine  chiefly 
to  the  nurse ;  to  the  nurse  exclusively  she  left  all 
the  more  tender  ministrations  to  the  little,  dawning 
personality.  Upon  one  point,  however,  she  stood 
firm.  When  the  child  was  ailing,  it  should  be  brought 


THE    BRENTONS  319 

at  once  to  her  for  succour.  It  should  be  healed  by 
the  power  of  her  mind,  not  poisoned  by  the  nostrums 
of  a  man  like  Doctor  Keltridge,  good  as  gold,  but 
slavish  in  his  adherence  to  the  foolish  old  traditions. 

Therefore  it  came  about  that,  when  the  cruel  dog 
days  fell  upon  the  town,  when  baby  after  baby  be 
came  a  victim  to  their  scourge  until  at  last  it  was 
the  Brenton  baby's  turn,  then  Katharine  suddenly 
discovered  that  mind  was  a  poor  weapon  against  in 
cipient  dysentery.  She  fought  the  disease  most  val 
iantly  ;  she  even  stayed  at  home  for  two  entire  days, 
holding  the  baby  in  one  arm,  a  fat  black  volume  in 
the  other  hand,  reading  and  pondering  by  turns. 
Being  human  and  feminine  and,  by  this  time,  a  little 
tired,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  occasionally 
her  mind  wandered  a  little  from  the  child  to  the  best 
amount  of  starch  for  muslin  frocks.  Still,  as  a  whole, 
she  held  herself  fairly  steady ;  and,  by  the  end  of 
the  third  day,  she  was  rejoiced  to  find  the  child  was 
on  the  gain.  Openly  and  aloud,  she  proceeded  to 
give  testimony  as  concerned  this  test  case.  To  Bren 
ton  she  talked  of  it  incessantly,  in  the  hope  of  as 
sisting  his  conversion  to  her  standards.  Unhappily, 
Brenton,  after  talking  with  Doctor  Keltridge,  and 
heavily  bribing  the  nurse  to  hold  her  tongue,  knew 
more  about  the  causes  of  the  cure  than  Katharine 
did,  and  hence  his  conversion  was  not  greatly  expe 
dited  by  it. 

It  was  a  good  ten  days  afterward,  a  good  week 
after  his  talk  with  Doctor  Keltridge,  that  Brenton 
dropped  in  at  the  Keltridges',  one  morning,  to  make 
his  report  upon  the  child.  It  was  the  ending  of  the 
office  hour;  three  or  four  patients  still  were  await- 


320  THE    BRENTONS 

ing  their  turns  for  consultation.  Accordingly,  Olive, 
meeting  Brenton  on  the  steps,  took  him  to  the  library 
to  wait. 

"  No  use  your  going  in  there  to  sit  with  all  the 
other  germs,"  she  told  him  lightly,  as  she  removed 
her  hat  pins  and  took  off  her  hat.  "  Come  in  here, 
and  tell  me  how  the  boy  is  getting  on.  Better,  I 
hope." 

"  Yes,  better.  Still,  it  is  slow  to  get  him  up 
again.  Babies  are  such  frail  little  things ;  a  breath 
can  send  them  up  or  down.  Of  course,  I  am  very 
anxious." 

Olive  took  swift  note  of  the  singular  number  of 
the  pronoun;  its  very  unconsciousness  made  it  the 
more  ominous.  It  was  really  that  which  framed  her 
answer. 

"  Yes ;  but  you  have  a  treasure  of  a  nurse.  Mrs. 
Prather  tells  me  that  she  is  a  host  in  herself." 

As  Olive  spoke,  she  flattered  herself  that  she  had 
bridged  the  chasm  successfully.  A  glance  at  Brenton, 
though,  assured  her  that  he  had  been  momentarily 
aware  of  the  existence  of  the  chasm.  Hastily  she 
changed  the  subject,  too  hastily,  as  it  proved,  to 
select  her  new  theme  with  care. 

"  My  father  has  been  telling  me  a  little  bit  about 
your  future  plans,  Mr.  Brenton." 

"My  plans?" 

She  mistook  his  question  utterly. 

"  No  need  to  worry,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  ac 
cent  of  hauteur.  "  Of  course,  I  never  should  think 
of  speaking  of  them  to  any  outsider.  But  my  father 
has  a  trick  of  talking  most  things  over  with  me; 
we  have  been  alone  together  for  so  long." 


THE    BRENTONS  321 

"  Of  course.  There  is  no  reason  that  you  should  n't 
know.  Besides,  it  will  be  an  open  secret  soon.  As 
soon  as  things  are  settled  with  the  trustees,  I  shall 
resign." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  Olive  said  quite  simply. 

His  colour  came. 

"  It  is  the  only  honourable  thing  for  me  to  do, 
Miss  Keltridge." 

"  I  know  that,"  she  told  him,  with  a  swift  return 
to  her  old  downrightness.  "  And  I  am  sorry  for 
you,  yourself.  You  must  have  suffered,  in  this  whole 
thing,  a  great  deal  more  than  any  of  us  know." 

For  an  instant,  his  gray  eyes  deepened,  burned. 
He  started  to  hold  out  his  hand  to  hers ;  then  he 
checked  the  gesture. 

"  I  have.  It 's  not  an  easy  thing  to  do,  Miss  Kelt- 
ridge,  the  sliding  out  of  a  concrete  and  detailed 
theology  into  a  something  that  at  best  is  — 

She  cut  off  his  final  word. 

"  I  know.  Doubting  is  n't  so  easy  as  most  people 
imagine  it  to  be.  And  you  —  It  must  have  been 
fearful." 

"  To  have  had  such  doubts  ?  "  he  assented  musingly. 
"  Yes  —  " 

Again  she  cut  him  off,  this  time  rather  unex 
pectedly.  Brenton  was  conscious  of  a  momentary 
wonder  whether  her  sympathy  was  less  than  she  had 
led  him  to  anticipate. 

"  No ;  to  have  had  such  beliefs,  in  the  first  place. 
If  only  they  had  been  a  little  milder,  you  never  would 
have  distrusted  them.  It 's  nothing  but  the  rasping 
surface  of  a  creed  that  sets  the  doubts  to  working." 

He  tried  to  conceal  a  slight  sense  of  hurt  beneath 


322  THE    BRENTONS 

his  laugh  at  the  concrete  image  called  into  being  by 
her  words. 

"  Like  ivy  poison,  when  you  rub  it,  and  it  spreads  ? 
Perhaps."  Then  suddenly  his  eyes  went  grave.  "  The 
curious  fact  about  it  all,  Miss  Keltridge,  is  that  our 
beliefs  never  take  half  the  hold  on  us  that  our  doubts 
do.  My  inherited  notions  of  original  sin  and  a  vio 
lent  conversion  never  by  any  chance  could  have  upset 
my  worldly  advancement.  This  last  phase  of  my 
querying  —  to  phrase  it  mildly  —  is  going  to  over 
turn  my  —  "  And,  for  the  first  time  in  her  knowl 
edge  of  him,  Olive  heard  his  laugh  ring  bitter ;  "  my 
whole  scheme  of  domestic  economics." 

Bitter  as  was  his  laugh,  though,  Brenton's  face 
was  only  sad.  To  Olive,  watching  him  and  suddenly 
grown  aware  of  his  weakness,  it  was  plain  that  life 
was  taking  it  out  of  him  rather  badly,  plain  that  the 
man  before  her  was  hungering  for  comprehension, 
comfort.  What  did  he  get  of  that  sort,  at  home? 

Once  again,  at  her  own  question,  Olive  felt  the 
chasm  widening  between  them,  felt  it  and  instinc 
tively  detested  it.  Still,  she  could  not  keep  her  mind 
from  lingering  an  instant  on  the  wonder  whether, 
if  Brenton's  wife  had  been  sensitive,  unselfish,  alert 
to  supply,  in  so  far  as  lay  within  her,  the  sympathy 
of  which  he  plainly  was  in  need,  the  present  crisis 
ever  would  have  dawned.  She  doubted.  If  ever  there 
had  been  a  case  where  a  wife  had  muddled  things 
by  her  total  lack  of  comprehension,  here  it  was. 
A  blind  intolerance  would  have  been  nothing  by 
comparison. 

Suddenly  she  threw  back  her  shoulders  and  lifted 
up  her  head.  It  was  morally  and  socially  impossible 


THE    BRENTONS  323 

to  be  heaping  all  the  blame,  even  of  a  mental  crisis, 
on  the  wife.  She,  as  a  woman,  owed  the  other  woman 
more  sufferance  than  that.  And  Brenton  was  dis 
appointingly  weak.  No  strong  man  would  have  fallen 
down  in  such  a  muddle,  by  reason  of  a  tempest  in 
his  spiritual  teapot.  Besides,  if  he  had  steadied  to 
his  strain,  he  might  perhaps  have  held  his  wife  also 
steady,  might  even  have  prevented  her  allegiance  to 
her  new  creed.  Olive's  innate  sense  of  justice  de 
manded  division  of  the  blame. 

Yet,  as  the  girl  pronounced  her  judgments  on  both 
Brenton  and  his  wife,  she  was  conscious  of  an  im 
mense  wave  of  pity  which  spent  itself  entirely  upon 
Brenton.  Brenton  was  weak,  was  futile,  disappoint 
ing;  nevertheless,  it  was  plain  that  he  was  suffering 
keenly.  And,  just  because  the  nature  of  his  suffering 
was  so  alien  to  all  her  own  life's  standards,  it  im 
pressed  itself  on  Olive  as  the  grim,  silent  endurance 
of  Reed  Opdyke  had  never  done.  Reed  was  Reed, 
a  solid  fact  past  all  gainsaying;  his  point  of  view 
had  become  one  of  the  necessities  of  her  daily  life. 
Always  she  could  predict  with  just  how  great  a 
degree  of  manliness  he  would  bear  himself.  As  for 
Brenton  — 

To  her  extreme  surprise,  Olive's  mind  stopped 
short,  and  refused  to  continue  the  comparison. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SIX 

THE  curate,  after  the  manner  of  his  kind,  was 
having  tea  with  a  feminine  member  of  his  congrega 
tion.  This  time,  the  honour  had  fallen  upon  Olive, 
who  had  received  it  with  temperate  resignation  rather 
than  exuberant  joy.  Divested  of  his  bunny  hood, 
the  curate  was  a  weedy  young  man  with  painfully 
good  intentions  and  a  receding  chin.  Furthermore, 
he  confessed  to  liking  caraway  seed  in  his  tea  cakes. 
In  other  words,  the  trail  of  his  nursery  was  still 
upon  him.  Accordingly,  to  atone  for  the  skim-milk 
quality  of  his  conversation,  Olive  habitually  refused 
him  cream  in  his  tea,  and  squeezed  in  lemon  juice 
until  he  cried  aloud  for  mercy. 

On  this  particular  afternoon,  quite  as  a  matter  of 
course,  the  talk  had  turned  on  Brenton.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  to  Olive,  nowadays,  that  the  talk  invariably 
did  turn  on  Brenton.  All  summer  long,  his  matri 
monial  incongruities,  to  use  no  stronger  term  for  the 
domestic  ecclesiastical  situation,  had  furnished  talk 
for  half  the  tea  tables  in  town.  Moreover,  it  was 
only  when  a  man  was  present  that  any  woman  lifted 
up  her  voice  in  Katharine's  defence.  Left  to  them 
selves,  they  knew  perfectly  well  that  all  the  scholarly 
stoops  and  resonant  voices  and  luminous  gray  eyes 
in  all  creation  were  not  responsible  for  their  univer- 


THE    BRENTONS  325 

sal  sympathy  for  Brenton.  The  woman  was  a  toad, 
a  selfish  and  ambitious  toad,  hopping,  hopping,  hop 
ping  up  across  the  surface  of  the  human  pyramid 
before  her.  However,  in  the  presence  of  an  occa 
sional  tea-drinking  husband,  one  or  the  other  of  them 
embraced  convention  and  talked  feelingly  of  Mrs. 
Brenton's  virtues.  As  a  rule,  though,  she  confessed 
to  herself  later  on  that  she  had  been  insistently  harp 
ing  upon  a  non-existent  entity. 

Of  late,  though,  a  new  element  had  crept  into  the 
talk.  Without  a  definite  word  of  any  sort  having 
been  spoken,  there  was  a  widening  circle  of  belief 
that  Brenton's  days  at  Saint  Peter's  were  coming 
to  an  end;  that  he  had  stumbled  over  some  obstacle 
in  his  professional  pathway;  in  short,  that  he  had 
come  an  ecclesiastical  cropper.  Just  the  form  taken 
by  that  cropper,  just  when  his  relations  with  Saint 
Peter's  would  cease,  just  why  and  wherefore,  just 
what  would  be  the  next  page  of  Brenton's  history: 
all  this  was  still  an  enigma  past  all  finding  out.  For 
that  very  reason,  it  added  untold  zest  to  all  the  cups 
of  tea.  Indeed,  it  had  quite  ousted  the  subject  of 
Reed  Opdyke  from  the  public  mind.  Reed,  in  his 
own  time,  had  been  the  one  great  theme.  As  the 
months  ran  on,  though,  he  presented  very  little  variety 
to  the  general  eye,  and  one's  subject  must  show 
variety  at  any  cost.  Therefore  Opdyke  was  aban 
doned,  and  Brenton  substituted  in  his  place. 

Questioned,  Olive  would  have  found  it  hard  to  tell 
why  the  inveterate  harping  upon  Brenton  vexed  her 
so.  She  had  been  frankly  irate,  earlier,  when  the 
talk  had  turned  on  Opdyke ;  more  than  once,  she  had 
freed  her  mind  and  departed  on  her  heels.  However, 


326  THE    BRENTONS 

that  had  been  very  different;  very,  very  different. 
Opdyke  was  an  individual ;  his  predicament  was  a 
purely  personal  matter,  concerning  himself  alone.  He 
did  not  talk  of  it,  himself.  Therefore  it  seemed  to 
Olive  that  there  was  no  especial  reason  that  all  the 
women  in  town,  some  of  them  total  strangers,  should 
be  babbling  unceasingly  about  it,  with  every  degree 
of  curiosity  and  of  mawkish  sentiment. 

But  Brenton,  partly  by  virtue  of  his  position  in 
the  public  eye,  partly  by  reason  of  something  in  his 
make-up  which  led  him  to  clamour  forth  his  intellec 
tual  hardships  to  any  sympathetic  ear  that  offered; 
by  that  same  token,  Brenton  seemed  to  the  girl  to 
be  the  more  in  need  of  calm  protection.  Reed,  shut 
away  from  all  the  clamour,  was  powerless  to  defend 
himself.  Brenton,  timing  his  steps  to  the  rhythm  of 
the  chorus,  even  giving  an  occasional  metronomic  sig 
nal  to  that  chorus,  was  equally  powerless  to  suppress 
it.  The  fact  that  the  lack  of  power  was  in  himself, 
not  in  circumstance:  this  only  made  it  the  more  pite 
ous.  And  Olive,  listening,  did  pity  Brenton,  pity 
him  increasingly,  albeit  with  the  pity  which  is  not 
at  all  akin  to  love.  It  was  not  his  own  fault  entirely 
that  his  virile  strength  was  crossed  by  the  wavering, 
widening  line  of  weakness  that  kept  him  from  shut 
ting  his  teeth  upon  the  results  of  his  spiritual  manoeu 
vres  ;  not  his  own  fault  that  his  analytic  logic  was 
a  long  way  sounder  than  his  common  sense. 

"  Two  lumps,  Mr.  Ross  ?  "  Olive  queried,  over 
the  second  cup  of  tea.  She  knew  quite  well  that 
the  question  would  stamp  her  once  and  for  all  as 
a  careless  hostess.  Nevertheless,  she  asked  it,  as 
her  only  means  of  deflecting  the  talk  from  Brenton. 


THE    BRENTONS  327 

The  curate  gave  a  soft  and  patient  sigh. 

"  No  sugar,  Miss  Keltridge,"  he  corrected  her 
gently ;  "  and,  if  you  don't  mind,  please  not  quite 
so  much  lemon.  There ! "  He  lifted  his  hand 
appealingly. 

But  Olive,  smiling  brightly  back  at  him,  gave  the 
uncut  half  of  lemon  another  squeeze  in  her  strong 
and  supple  fingers. 

"  Oh,  but  you  will  learn  to  like  it  in  time,  Mr. 
Ross.  Then  you  will  wonder  how  you  even  toler 
ated  it  in  any  other  way." 

"  I  dare  say,"  the  curate  murmured  meekly,  as 
he  took  the  cup. 

"  Indeed,  I  know,"  Olive  assured  him  easily. 
"  When  I  was  young,  I  used  to  take  it  with  all  sorts 
of  cream  in  it ;  but  now  —  "  She  shook  her  head. 
Then  she  added  suavely,  "  You  are  sure  it  is  quite 
all  right,  Mr.  Ross?" 

The  curate  took  a  courteous  taste.  Then  he 
strangled  a  little,  not  so  much,  though,  at  the  tea 
as  at  the  coming  falsehood. 

"  Oh,  very !  "  he  said  politely,  and  then  he  took 
to  stirring  his  tea  with  suspicious  fervour. 

"  How  strange  it  always  seems  to  have  the  town 
fill  up  again !  "  Olive  observed,  still  determined  to 
keep  the  talk  away  from  Brenton.  "  And  yet,  we 
miss  the  girls,  when  they  are  gone." 

"  We  miss  them  at  the  church,"  the  curate  an 
swered  with  unexpected  energy.  "  They  increase 
the  offertory  at  least  twenty-five  per  cent,  and  they 
keep  the  choir  boys  from  flatting  on  their  upper 
notes.  I  had  never  seen  a  girls'  college,  till  I  came 
here;  but  I  can't  help  thinking  it  has  its  own  dis- 


328  THE    BRENTONS 

advantages.  I  like  them  in  the  aggregate,  Miss 
Keltridge;  but  I  can't  seem  to  get  on  with  them 
individually.  They  are  so  distressingly  young.  I 
leave  all  that  to  Mr.  Brenton." 

"  He  has  been  most  successful,"  Olive  assented 
tamely. 

"  Yes.  He  has  a  way  with  women,  as  they  say ; 
he  manages  them  by  the  ears.  At  least  —  I 
mean  —  :  The  curate,  confounded  by  the  hideous 
mental  picture  that  he  had  evoked,  was  flounder 
ing  helplessly. 

"  Exactly,"   Olive  assented  once  more. 

The  curate  rallied. 

"  And  yet,  they  all  adore  him,"  he  concluded. 
"  That  is  the  strange  thing  about  Mr.  Brenton, 
Miss  Keltridge.  He  manages  most  women  grandly," 
the  curate,  sure  that  he  had  retrieved  his  error,  in 
his  self-gratulation  promptly  slipped  into  a  second 
one ;  "  but  that  suffragette  wife  of  his  —  " 

"  Mrs.  Brenton  is  not  a  suffragette,"  Olive  in 
terposed  hurriedly. 

"  No?  Well,  she  might  as  well  be.  She  's  Chris 
tian  Scientist,  and  that  is  only  the  next  thing  to 
it.  Besides,  she  is  terribly  masterful,  is  Mrs.  Bren 
ton.  Take  the  case  of  the  baby,  for  instance:  no 
matter  what  happens  to  be  the  trouble  with  the 
little  one,  Mrs.  Brenton  won't  allow  a  grain  of 
calomel  inside  the  house.  I  call  it  —  " 

"  Olive ! "  It  was  the  voice  of  the  doctor,  speak 
ing  from  the  threshold;  and  the  voice  was  weighted 
with  anxiety.  "  Can  you  be  excused  for  just  one 
minute?  " 

With  a  little  gesture  of  apology,  Olive  left  her 


THE    BRENTONS  329 

place  beside  the  tray,  and  went  in  the  direction  of 
the  voice.  She  overtook  her  father  in  his  consult 
ing-room,  where  he  was  pacing  the  floor,  fists  in 
his  pockets,  hair  awry  and  his  face  singularly  dark 
and  haggard. 

"  Olive,"  he  said  abruptly,  as  his  daughter  came 
in  sight;  "can  you  possibly  send  oft0  that  snippet, 
and  go  down  to  the  Opdykes'  for  an  hour?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  can.      Is   anything  the  matter?  " 

"  Yes,  and  no.  There  's  nothing  new,  exactly ; 
but  they  all  are  —  getting  on  their  nerves.  I  've 
been  down  there,  half  the  afternoon,  trying  to  steady 
them ;  but  it  is  a  case  where  they  need  a  woman. 
If  you  can  go,  Olive?  And  don't  come  back,  until 
you  can't  do  another  thing  for  any  of  them.  No 
matter  if  it  does  take  it  out  of  you;  I  can  patch 
you  up  again,  all  right.  And  they  all  want  you. 
Mrs.  Opdyke  asked  if  you  would  come."  The  doc 
tor  came  to  a  full  halt,  his  face  very  red,  his  eyes 
suffused,  and  fell  to  rubbing  both  hands  through 
and  through  his  hair. 

Olive  waited  a  full  minute  before  she  spoke.  When 
she  did  speak,  her  clear  young  voice  was  steady 
and  authoritative. 

"  Father,  what  is  it  ?  Something  must  be  very 
wrong.  Is  Reed  —  worse?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  what  is  it?  " 

The  doctor's  face  grew  redder  still.  Then,  of  a 
sudden,  the  words  flew  from  him  in  a  great  gulp 
of  woe. 

"  He  told  me,  early  this  afternoon,  what  he  claims 
to  have  known  surely  for  a  long,  long  time :  that  there 


THE    BRENTONS 

is  no  chance  for  him  to  gain ;  that  the  lower  part 
of  his  body  is  absolutely  dead;  that  all  our  treat 
ment,  all  our  experimenting  on  it  has  not  affected 
it  at  all ;  that,  till  the  day  he  dies,  he  's  bound  to 
stay  there  just  as  you  see  him  now,  half  of  him 
perfectly  well,  half  of  him  a  senseless  log." 

Olive  whitened,  whitened.  There  came  a  faint 
blue  line  about  her  mouth,  and  her  eyes  glittered, 
hot  and  dry.  Nevertheless,  — 

"You  believe  it?"  she  asked  steadily. 

"  I  did  n't,  at  the  first.     In  the  end,  he  made  me." 

The  white  changed  into  gray,  and  the  blue  line 
widened. 

"  I  '11  go  at  once,"  she  said  briefly.  "  Please  tell 
Mr.  Ross  I  have  been  called  out  on  an  important 
errand." 

For  Olive  Keltridge  would  not  flinch,  even  in  this 
present  crisis.  If  Reed  was  in  this  final,  consum 
mating  agony,  and  needed  her,  it  was  for  her 
to  go. 

Five  minutes  later,  the  curate  safely  shunted  to 
the  front  door  and  through  it,  the  doctor  came  back 
again  to  Olive,  a  wine  glass  in  his  hand.  She  told 
him  with  a  gesture  that  she  preferred  to  be  with 
out  it. 

"  You  need  n't  worry,"  she  said  quietly,  as  she 
settled  her  hat  and  gave  a  touch  or  two  to  her 
crisp  white  gown ;  "  I  promise  you  I  won't  disgrace 
you.  I  shall  go  through  it  better,  if  I  rely  just 
on  my  nerves,  not  on  a  stimulant." 

"  But  it  is  going  to  be  a  bad  half-hour  for  you, 
Olive." 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  that  ?     Reed  and 


THE    BRENTONS  331 

I  have  been  chums  since  I  was  three  years  old;  I 
don't  want  to  watch  — 

But  the  doctor  interrupted. 

"  It  is  n't  Reed  you  '11  have  to  watch.  He  will 
be  watching  you,  trying  to  let  you  down  as  easily 
as  he  can.  It 's  like  the  boy  to  take  in  the  fact 
that  this  thing  is  n't  going  to  be  altogether  easy 
for  a  few  of  us  others  to  accept.  As  far  as  he  is 
concerned,  he 's  very  quiet ;  his  main  anxiety  ap 
pears  to  be  for  the  effect  of  the  shock  on  other 
people.  You  won't  have  any  scene  with  Reed ;  he  '11 
look  out  for  that.  It 's  his  father  and  mother  who 
are  the  present  problem." 

"  They  are  —     '  Olive  hesitated  for  a  word. 

"  The  professor  is  crushed,  stunned.  It  never 
once  has  seemed  to  cross  his  mind  that  this  thing 
could  be  final;  and  now  the  fact  has  knocked  him 
over.  As  for  Mrs.  Opdyke,  I  worry  less.  She  has 
lost  all  grip  on  herself  and  is  hysterical,  with  Rams- 
dell  in  attendance  till  I  can  send  somebody  in.  That 
leaves  Reed  alone,  to  hear  the  echoes  of  the  general 
unsettlement,  and  to  think  them  over.  Damn  it  all, 
Olive !  It  's  bad  enough  to  be  knocked  out,  in  the 
first  place ;  but  it 's  a  long  way  worse  to  be  out  of 
it  and  to  know  that  you  are  being  wailed  over.  Mrs. 
Opdyke  is  having  a  veritable  wake.  For  heaven's 
sake,  hurry  down  there  and  see  if  you  can't  help 
Ramsdell  to  steady  her  down.  If  you  can't,  then 
let  her  wake  it  out  to  her  heart's  content,  and  you 
go  up  and  talk  to  Reed.  Else,  he  '11  go  mad." 

And  Olive  went. 

As  the  doctor  had  foretold,  she  found  the  house 
in  psychological  chaos.  In  the  library,  the  profes- 


332  THE    BRENTONS 

sor  sat  alone  beside  his  desk.  Of  a  sudden,  he  had 
turned  to  the  likeness  of  an  old,  old  man,  shrunken 
and  bowed  with  a  grief  which,  taking  his  vitality 
drop  by  drop,  had  left  him  in  this  present,  final 
crisis,  inert,  passive,  apathetic.  He  greeted  Olive 
listlessly,  answered  a  question  so  vaguely  as  to  warn 
her  that  any  effort  on  her  part  to  rouse  him  would 
be  worse  than  useless,  worse  because  it  would  change 
his  apathy  into  renewed  despair.  For  a  few 
minutes,  the  girl  stood  beside  him,  watching  him 
silently,  realizing  that  the  shock  had  been  so  sudden 
that  it  had  taken  away  the  power  to  feel.  Like  a 
man  knocked  out  in  battle,  he  only  had  a  dim  realiza 
tion  that  he  had  been  shot  down,  pierced  in  some 
vital  part.  It  would  take  him  a  long  time  to  become 
aware  of  just  the  nature  of  his  injury. 

In  the  next  room,  Ramsdell  was  busy  with  Mrs. 
Opdyke,  very  busy,  as  Olive  saw,  once  she  crossed 
the  threshold.  She  also  saw  that  Ramsdell  was  as 
gentle  as  a  woman  in  the  crisis,  as  gentle  and  in 
finitely  more  strong.  There  was  really  nothing  for 
her  to  do,  nothing  that  Ramsdell,  trained  for  such 
emergencies,  could  not  do  far,  far  better.  And 
the  hysterical  sobbing,  the  moans  of  the  mother's 
anguish,  could  be  plainly  heard  through  all  the  silent 
house.  Olive  pitied  Mrs.  Opdyke  most  intensely ; 
but  she  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  longing  to  ad 
minister  a  restorative  box  on  the  ear.  It  was  un 
thinkable,  to  her  young,  elastic  strength,  that  any 
one  could  be  so  weak  as  to  throw  over  self-control 
completely ;  unthinkable  that  any  mother  could  be 
come  so  strident  in  her  selfish  agony  of  pity  for 
her  stricken  son,  when  she  could  so  much  better  be 


THE    BRENTONS  333 

holding  herself  and  him  quite  steady  by  her  brave 
acceptance  of  untoward  fortune.  But  then,  Mrs. 
Opdyke  was  an  older  woman,  and  of  more  feminine 
mould.  Besides,  she  had  had  an  eighteen-month-long 
strain,  and,  moreover,  she  was  Reed's  mother,  while 
she  herself,  Olive,  was  nothing  but  a  rank  outsider, 
and  consequently  callous.  She  did  her  best  to  dis 
miss  her  longing  to  smite  the  wailing  Mrs.  Opdyke ; 
but  the  blue  ring  once  more  settled  about  her  lips, 
as  she  went  slowly  up  the  stairs. 

In  Reed's  room  everything  was  curiously  un 
changed,  curiously  unlike  the  spiritual  chaos  below 
stairs.  The  September  sunshine  came  sifting  in 
through  the  tree  tops  to  dapple  with  level  spots  of 
light  the  silky  surface  of  the  rug;  the  soft  breeze 
stirred  the  curtains  and  then  passed  on  to  ruffle  the 
curly  mop  of  bright  brown  hair  that  gleamed  like 
polished  chestnuts  in  the  sun.  After  the  excitement 
and  the  tragedy  of  the  lower  rooms,  this  place  seemed 
as  quiet  as  a  sanctuary ;  and  Reed's  face  matched 
the  quiet,  as  he  turned  his  eyes  to  Olive. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  it,  too,"  he  said  quite 
steadily.  "  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  myself ;  but  I 
could  n't  seem  to  brace  myself  to  the  actual  put 
ting  it  into  words.  No ;  don't  go  to  spilling  any 
tears,  Olive;  it  is  too  late  for  that.  In  fact,"  and 
then,  just  for  a  moment,  the  hand  outstretched  on 
the  rug  shut  till  the  nails  bit  into  the  softness  of 
the  palm ;  "  there  is  a  certain  relief  in  having  it  out 
and  over,  and  all  settled.  We  both  of  us  have  known 
we  were  facing  the  chance  of  it.  Now  we  know  the 
worst,  and  can  take  it  as  it  comes." 

Despite   the   little   quiver   of   his    voice   upon    the 


334  THE    BRENTONS 

final  words,  there  was  a  curious  peace  in  his  face, 
the  light  like  nothing  else  on  land  and  sea.  Olive 
watched  it,  for  a  minute,  through  the  blinding,  burn 
ing  tears.  Then,  forgetful  of  her  promise  to  her 
father,  she  flung  herself  down  on  her  knees  beside 
the  couch,  and  fell  to  sobbing  like  a  little  child. 

She  steadied  herself  soon,  however;  but  not  until, 
with  a  greater  effort  than  she  ever  knew,  Reed 
stretched  out  his  arm  to  its  fullest  reach  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  her  cheek,  her  hair. 

"  Yes,  Olive,"  he  said,  very  low.  "  I  am  glad  it 
hurts  you  just  a  little.  I  wanted  you  to  care." 

Then  sharply  he  withdrew  his  hand  and  put  it 
out  of  sight  beneath  the  rug.  When  once  more  he 
spoke,  his  voice  had  its  old  resonance. 

"  Don't  take  it  too  hard,  Olive,"  he  bade  her 
cheerily.  "  I  was  rather  a  selfish  beast  not  to  have 
told  you  earlier,  instead  of  letting  you  go  on  hoping 
for  the  unattainable.  Feeling  better?  That's  good. 
Of  course,  we  were  bound  to  make  our  moan  to 
gether  ;  we  've  been  chums  too  long  to  miss  that, 
and  there  's  much  more  comfort  to  be  taken  in  a  duet 
of  misery  than  in  a  pair  of  separate  solos.  Now  just 
tell  me  once  for  all  that  you  are  infernally  sorry, 
and  we  '11  consider  that  matter  settled  for  all  time. 
Sure  you  're  all  right?  There  's  some  wine,  over  in 
that  closet.  No  ?  Well,  then  I  'd  like  to  suggest 
that  your  hat  is  rampantly  askew.  Harrowing 
scenes  are  n't  good  for  millinery.  Yes,  that 's 
straight.  Now  do  haul  up  a  chair,  and  we  '11  proceed 
to  talk  this  thing  out  to  the  bitter  end.  There  's  no 
denying  that  I  've  made  a  mess  of  life  by  my  own 
recklessness ;  but  apparently  I  've  got  to  go  on  living, 


THE    BRENTONS  335 

just  the  same.  Therefore,  if  you  don't  mind,  sup 
pose  we  plan  how  I  can  go  to  work  to  pick  up  the 
pieces." 

And  while,  below  stairs,  Reed  Opdyke's  parents 
were  prostrate  in  their  sorrow,  it  was  in  this  fashion 
that  Olive  Keltridge,  sitting  by  his  side,  tried  to 
help  him  to  face  forward  steadily,  and  to  pick  up  the 
useful  fragments  left  of  his  broken  life. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-SEVEN 

SAINT  PETER'S  PARISH  was  fifteen  miles  and  a  con 
sequent  half-hour  of  time  from  the  nearest  fount  of 
Christian  Science  teaching.  Hence  it  resulted  that 
only  rarely  had  Katharine  been  used  to  refresh  her 
self  in  the  tenets  of  her  new  theology.  In  part,  this 
came  from  her  natural  self-reliance,  coupled  with 
an  indolence  which  made  her  shrink  from  the  needful 
effort  to  catch  an  early  train.  In  part,  it  came  out 
of  Brenton's  heedful  planning.  Regretting,  as  he 
could  not  fail  to  do,  his  wife's  allegiance  to  a  creed 
so  alien  to  the  shreds  of  his  own  belief,  not  daring 
to  oppose  her  absolutely  in  its  observance,  he  con 
trived  to  strew  her  path  with  the  accumulated  petty 
obstacles  which  are  so  much  more  insurmountable 
than  any  single  great  one.  He  never  set  back  the 
hands  of  the  clock  to  make  her  miss  her  train; 
neither  did  he  lock  her  in  her  room.  He  merely  found 
out  at  the  last  minute  that  he  needed  one  of  the  small 
personal  services  which  only  a  wife  can  give. 

And  Katharine,  by  the  very  nature  of  her  new 
and  optimistic  creed,  was  powerless  to  stand  out 
against  him.  Earlier,  fathoming  his  purposes,  she 
would  have  raged,  have  burst  into  a  passion.  Now 
she  could  only  minister  to  him  with  an  impassive 
calm,  while,  in  her  secret  heart,  she  was  piously  com 
mending  him  to  the  attention  of  the  Universal  Mind 


THE    BRENTONS  337 

for  discipline.  Unhappily  for  Katharine,  however, 
the  Universal  Mind  appeared  to  be  engaged  in  some 
other  direction,  and  Brenton,  for  the  present,  was 
left  to  go  scot  free. 

This  had  been  the  state  of  the  case,  ever  since  the 
early  spring,  and  Katharine  felt  the  private  and 
personal  fount  of  sanctity  within  her  to  be  running 
dry.  She  was  just  making  up  her  mind  to  break 
away  at  any  cost,  when  a  new  complication  arose  in 
the  person  of  the  baby.  Not  that  Katharine's  de 
votion  to  her  child  would  have  led  her  to  any  especial 
sacrifice,  however.  Indeed,  there  was  no  need  for 
that.  The  nurse  had  proved  herself  an  efficient 
substitute  in  any  normal  crisis ;  and  any  abnormal 
one,  Katharine  believed,  could  be  controlled  as  well 
by  absent  treatment  as  by  present.  Unhappily, 
Katharine  had  reckoned  without  taking  into  account 
either  Brenton's  wilful  allegiance  to  the  old-fashioned 
notions  of  disease,  or  the  nurse's  abject  allegiance 
to  the  father  of  her  puny  charge. 

For,  as  the  time  ran  on,  no  one  could  deny  that 
the  child  was  puny,  that  his  birthright  of  health  was 
dwindling  fast.  And,  while  it  dwindled,  the  heat 
came  on,  and  then  the  stifling  dog  days.  It  was  a 
season  when  the  lustiest  of  children  wilted  with  the 
damp,  depressing  heat;  and  the  Brenton  baby,  never 
lusty,  wilted  with  them.  Katharine  treated  him  with 
conscientious  regularity ;  but  dog  days  and  conse 
quent  dysentery  proved  too  strenuous  a  claim  for 
her  to  fight  alone,  and  more  and  more  eagerly  she 
longed  for  the  succour  of  the  nearest  local  repre 
sentative  of  the  Mother  Church. 

Nevertheless,  the  more   she  longed,  the  more  she 


338  THE    BRENTONS 

shrank  from  carrying  into  effect  her  longing.  Three 
days  before  this  time,  Brenton  had  come  in  upon 
her,  sitting  beside  the  weazen  child,  her  eyes  on  space, 
her  lips  moving  in  silent  self-communion.  Across 
the  room,  the  nurse  was  sobbing  into  her  handker 
chief.  Now  and  then,  between  her  sobs,  she  lifted 
up  her  irate  eyes  to  glare  upon  the  placid  face  beside 
the  little  crib. 

Brenton  had  asked  a  question.  Before  Katharine 
could  answer,  the  nurse  had  cut  in  and  given  him  a 
few  facts :  hours  and  amounts  and  consequent  symp 
toms  which  she  deemed  disturbing.  And  then,  in  a 
voice  which  made  a  curious  contrast  to  the  agitation 
of  the  nurse,  Katharine  had  urged  them  to  wait, 
quiet,  until  she  had  put  the  little  human  creature, 
suffering  from  some  hidden  sin  or  lack  of  faith,  into 
a  more  total  communion  with  the  Infinite,  the  Healer ; 
had  even  begged  them  not  to  allow  their  ill-concealed 
doubts  to  delay  the  perfect  cure. 

The  nurse,  heedless  of  the  Infinite,  the  Healer, 
had  interposed  with  a  few  more  facts ;  had  pointed 
out  that  physical  mal-nutrition  can  not  be  made  good 
by  a  diet  of  compressed  air,  however  theological  that 
air  may  be.  The  baby  needed,  not  the  Infinite,  but 
finite  stimulants  and  predigested  foods.  It  needed 
to  be  left  in  peace  and  quiet,  not  be  stirred  up  to 
listen  to  what,  in  her  increasing  ire,  the  nurse  termed 
mummery  and  flummery.  As  for  sin,  the  poor  baby 
was  n't  the  sinner.  It  had  n't  gone  and  neglected  its 
only  son  — 

In  mercy,  less  for  the  logic  of  the  nurse  and  the 
consequent  feelings  of  his  wife,  than  for  his  own 
nerves,  Brenton  interrupted.  Like  most  men  be- 


THE    BRENTONS  389 

twecn  two  women,  he  only  made  the  matter  infinitely 
worse.  There  was  a  discussion;  then  there  were 
words.  Then  Brenton  lost  his  temper  and  departed 
on  his  heels,  leaving  his  wife,  the  nurse,  and  the  fret 
ful  baby  wailing  aloud  in  a  discordant  trio.  As  a 
natural  result,  Katharine  forgot  the  needs  of  the 
child  and  sought  the  healing  contact  of  the  All-Mind 
upon  her  own  account,  while  the  nurse,  drying  her 
tears  in  haste,  seized  the  child  in  one  arm,  the  op 
portunity  in  the  other,  and  administered  the  simple 
remedies  she  always  kept  on  hand.  Brenton,  mean 
while,  sought  Doctor  Keltridge.  Half  an  hour  later, 
he  was  back  again,  the  doctor  by  his  side. 

The  old  doctor,  dragged  helter-skelter  from  his 
laboratory,  was  in  wildest  disarray,  and  his  eyes  were 
still  a  little  vague,  as  he  followed  Brenton  up  the 
stairs  to  the  nursery.  Across  the  threshold  of  the 
nursery,  however,  the  vagueness  vanished ;  the  eyes 
grew  keen  as  sharp-pointed  bits  of  steel,  yet  strangely 
gentle,  while  he  sat  down  beside  the  crib  and  laid  one 
mammoth  brown  hand  above  the  scrawny  little  claw. 
Then,  for  just  a  minute,  the  keen  eyes  narrowed  to 
a  line.  A  minute  afterward,  he  looked  up  and  smiled 
across  at  Brenton. 

"  Yes,  the  little  chap  is  sick,  this  time ;  it  is  about 
as  well  you  called  me  in.  It 's  been  a  bad  summer 
for  the  children ;  he  's  had  to  take  his  turn  with  the 
rest  of  them,  and  it  has  pulled  him  down.  Poor  little 
youngster !  "  And  one  huge  forefinger  gently  hooked 
itself  into  the  neck  of  the  little  gown,  drew  it  away 
and  disclosed  the  piteous  leanness  of  the  throat  and 
chest  beneath,  the  fragile  leanness  of  the  baby  bird 
just  fallen  from  the  nest.  "  Poor  little  youngster!  " 


340  THE    BRENTONS 

he  repeated.  "  He  has  had  a  hard  time  of  it  in  this 
world.  Sometimes  it  does  seem  as  if  they  did  n't 
start  with  quite  a  fair  chance." 

"  Doctor,"  the  word  came  with  something  that  was 
very  like  a  groan ;  "  I  have  done  my  best." 

The  doctor  stopped  him  instantly. 

"  Brenton,  I  know  that.  You  've  had  a  bad  time, 
too.  Don't  think  for  a  minute  I  am  forgetting  that, 
even  if  I  don't  say  too  much  about  it.  It 's  extra 
hard,  in  this  case,  for  the  boy  was  perfectly  strong, 
when  he  was  born." 

"  You  mean  —  Brenton's  mouth  had  suddenly 
gone  so  dry  that  he  could  not  finish  out  the  phrase. 

The   doctor   did  not   falter. 

"  Brenton,  if  I  am  to  help  you  keep  the  boy,  I 
shall  have  to  talk  to  you  brutally.  The  baby  was 
born  all  right,  healthy  as  a  child  could  be,  tough  and 
strong  enough  for  a  dozen  children.  However,  every 
baby  needs  a  little  nursing,  needs  a  little  dosing  now 
and  then,  even  if  he  is  healthy.  That  is  what  your 
baby  has  n't  had.  Mrs.  Brenton,  with  the  best  will 
in  the  world,  has  fed  him  any  sort  of  milk  from  any 
sort  of  cows,  and  she  has  counted  on  the  Infinite  to 
sterilize  the  milkman's  fingers.  And,  in  all  prob 
ability,  the  Infinite  did  n't  do  it.  Too  busy,  likely, 
in  sterilizing  the  youngster's  mind.  Then,  when  a 
dose  of  honest  castor  oil  would  have  made  good  the 
trouble,  she  gave  him  a  dose  of  Science  and  Health, 
instead.  It  may  be  all  right  in  theory ;  in  this  prac 
tical  case,  she  might  just  as  well  have  rolled  up  the 
inspired  pages  into  pills  and  have  poked  them  down 
the  baby's  throat."  And  then  the  doctor  pulled 
himself  up.  "  However,  that 's  done  with.  Now,  if 


THE    BRENTONS  341 

you  '11  stand  by  me  and  see  that  my  orders  are  car 
ried  out,  I  '11  fall  to  work  and  try  my  best  to  undo 
the  harm.  You  '11  see  me  through,  Brenton?  It  will 
keep  you  on  duty  steadily ;  but  it  is  the  one  thing 
that  will  save  your  child." 

"  Of  course.  Go  on."  Then  Brenton  shut  his 
teeth. 

"  Nurse,  have  you  been  able  to  give  —  And  the 
doctor  put  her  through  a  searching  catechism.  Then, 
"  So  far,  so  good.  I  am  glad  you  kept  your  head ; 
it  was  the  one  chance.  Now,  suppose  we  look  a  little 
closer." 

To  Brenton,  watching  intently,  it  seemed  almost 
impossible  that  those  great,  acid-stained  hands  could 
stir,  then  lift,  the  little  form  so  tenderly.  Indeed, 
once  on  the  doctor's  knee,  the  baby  nestled  weakly  to 
the  curve  of  his  rough  coat  sleeve,  the  heavy  lids 
lifted  and  the  weazen  face  lighted  with  the  ghost  of 
a  tired  little  smile.  Then  the  lids  fell  heavily  once 
more ;  but  once  more,  also,  there  was  the  faintly 
nestling  motion  of  the  wee,  weary  body  against  the 
strong,  kind  arm.  And,  above  the  little  body,  the 
doctor's  face,  intently  bent  over  the  child,  was  lighted 
with  a  swift  reflection  from  the  greater  light  of  the 
All-Father,  yet  above. 

"  Poor  little  kiddie !  "  he  said  slowly.  "  It 's  a 
close  shave  for  him,  Brenton ;  but,  if  you  '11  stand 
by  and  help,  please  God,  we  '11  save  him  yet." 

And  Brenton  did  stand  by,  all  evening  long  and 
all  the  night.  The  nurse  was  with  him,  watching. 
Katharine,  furious  beneath  her  scientific  calm,  came 
and  went  at  intervals ;  but  the  doctor's  bottle  and 
spoon  were  in  the  breast  pocket  of  Brenton's  clerical 


342  THE    BRENTONS 

coat,  the  doctor's  written  schedule  was  set  down  in 
duplicate  on  Brenton's  cuff.  And  Brenton,  too  tired 
to  be  really  weary,  never  once  left  his  chair  beside 
the  frilly  crib. 

Later  on,  he  never  could  remember  what  were  his 
thoughts,  that  night.  Being  human  and  very  wide 
awake,  he  must  have  thought  something;  but,  ran 
sack  his  mind  as  he  would,  nothing  coherent  ever 
came  back  to  him  out  of  the  half-forgotten  chaos. 
Indeed,  it  was  as  if  his  whole  nature,  body,  mind, 
and  spirit,  were  focussing  itself  upon  one  passionate 
desire  that  his  child  might  live.  Not  that  he  con 
sciously  prayed.  What  was  there  that  he  could  pray 
to,  or  for?  Laws  did  not  stop  their  working,  to 
prolong  one  baby  life.  Useless  to  ask  for  mere 
futilities.  Useless  and  totally  irreverent  to  insult 
the  Deity  by  suggesting  to  Him,  however  prayerfully, 
that  He  had  made  a  bad  mistake;  that,  were  His 
attention  only  called  to  the  mistake,  doubtless  He 
would  be  glad  to  set  it  right  while  time  still  remained 
to  Him.  And,  if  the  mistake  were  not  set  right? 
If  —  well  —  if  the  child  did  —  die,  what  then  ?  Did 
that  weazen  little  body,  that  mind  as  yet  unopened 
to  any  but  the  simplest  of  sensations :  did  these  hold 
within  themselves  the  germs  of  conscious  immor 
tality?  Or  would  the  tiny  flake  of  snow  upon  the 
desert's  dusty  waste  vanish  within  its  hour  or  two, 
be  gone?  The  bud,  cut  from  the  rose,  may  open  a 
bit,  when  placed  in  water;  then  it  fades,  and  dies, 
and  leaves  no  seed  behind.  In  the  same  way,  the 
budding  life,  cut  from  the  parent  stem  —  Who  had 
cut  it,  though:  God,  or  Katharine,  or  merely  inex 
orable  law?  Brenton  smothered  a  groan.  Then, 


THE    BRENTONS  343 

because  law  was  inexorable,  he  cast  aside  his  wonder- 
ings,  looked  at  his  cuff,  at  his  watch,  and  shut  his 
fingers  upon  the  bottle  and  the  spoon. 

As  for  Katharine,  it  would  have  been  well-nigh 
impossible  for  any  one  outside  the  influence  of  the 
mysterious  tenets  of  her  scientific  creed,  to  analyze  all 
she  felt,  that  night.  Moreover,  her  insulted  creed, 
had  the  truth  been  told,  seemed  to  herself  scarcely 
more  to  be  considered  than  her  insulted  self.  The 
child  was  her  own  property.  She  had  given  it  birth ; 
it  was  for  her  alone  to  dictate  its  experiences.  It 
was  her  child;  not  in  any  actual  sense  the  child  of 
Brenton.  And  Brenton,  too,  was  hers.  Little  as  she 
might  have  come  to  love  him  —  for  by  now  Katha 
rine  had  passed  the  epoch  where  she  reckoned  him 
as  anything  beyond  a  subject  for  critical  analysis 
and  consequent  deploring  —  little  as  she  might  have 
come  to  love  him,  he  was  yet  her  husband  and  so,  in  a 
sense,  her  chattel.  It  was  for  her  to  rule  them  both, 
her  husband  and  her  child;  she  should  be  dominant, 
they  humbly  subject.  And  now,  all  of  a  sudden,  they 
both  of  them  had  thrown  off  her  dominance,  the  child 
unconsciously,  Brenton  of  his  full  volition.  Apart 
from  any  question  of  the  theologic  controversy,  the 
household  had  cast  aside  her  sway,  had,  in  a  sense 
and  temporarily,  deposed  her  from  her  domestic 
throne,  she  the  strong  one  of  them  all.  Only  her 
stoically  optimistic  creed  kept  Katharine,  alone  in 
her  own  room,  from  biting  at  her  carefully-groomed 
finger  tips. 

And,  besides,  there  was  the  question  of  the  theo 
logic  controversy.  What  right  had  Brenton,  or  the 
nurse,  or  the  meddlesome  old  doctor  with  his  hair 


344  THE    BRENTONS 

on  end  and  without  his  cuffs,  to  come  inside  her 
house  and  overset  her  religion?  To  elevate  their 
own,  instead?  It  was  her  religion,  just  as  it  was  her 
house,  her  child.  And  her  religion  was  good.  Else, 
she  never  would  have  adopted  it.  What  matter  if 
their  cruder  minds  must  have  the  crass  physical  de 
tails  of  bottles  and  spoons  with  which  to  fight  sin- 
born  disease?  What  if  their  narrow  blindness  de 
stroyed  their  vision  of  the  all-embracing,  all-com 
pelling  Mind,  source  of  Holiness,  and  of  Knowledge, 
and,  by  consequence,  of  Health?  Should  she,  by 
reason  of  their  ignoble  interferences  and  persecutions, 
yield  her  own  allegiance  to  the  Higher  Light?  Not 
she!  Rather  would  she  fling  herself,  heart  and  soul, 
into  the  freshening  tide  of  her  own  visible  church. 
Out  of  its  ritual  only,  could  she  gain  new  fervour 
to  bear  and  endure  and  then,  if  need  be,  fight  for 
her  spiritual  freedom.  It  was  only  what  the  martyrs 
of  old  had  done;  only  the  work  which  fell  upon  the 
upholders  of  any  new  religion. 

Katharine,  walking  the  floor  of  her  own  room, 
that  night,  forgot  the  holy  calm  born  of  the  Uni 
versal  Mind  and  its  optimistic  tenets,  and  by  slow 
degrees  lashed  herself  into  a  scientific  replica  of  a 
nervous  tantrum.  Described  in  unscientific  language, 
she  was  a  mere  shaking  bundle  of  injured  and  angry 
egotism.  In  the  language  of  her  creed,  she  was  a 
suffering,  striving  martyr.  Her  martyrdom,  more 
over,  led  her  to  order  breakfast  served  to  her  in  her 
own  room.  It  also  led  her  to  eat  hungrily,  in  the 
intervals  of  making  her  toilet  for  the  train. 

She  was  already  hatted  and  gloved,  when  Brenton 
discovered  her  intention. 


THE    BRENTONS  345 

"You  are  not  going  out,  Katharine?"  he  asked, 
with  the  curious  lack  of  tact  which  all  men  show  at 
times. 

"  I  am." 

"But  — the  baby?" 

"  Baby  is  better.  I  have  just  been  in  to  see  him," 
she  replied,  as  she  buttoned  her  coat,  and  then  flicked 
a  grain  of  dust  from  its  sleeve. 

Brenton  shut  his  lips  for  just  a  minute.     Then, — 

"  Katharine,"  he  said  very  gravely ;  "  you  must 
have  seen  that  the  baby  is  only  just  alive." 

Katharine's  glance  was  resting  anxiously  upon  a 
drop  or  two  of  water  on  the  fingers  of  her  glove. 
She  seemed  not  to  have  heard  her  husband's  words. 
He  repeated  them. 

"  Katharine,  can't  you  see  that  our  baby,  our 
little  boy,  is  going  fast?  " 

Katharine  looked  up. 

"  Nonsense,  Scott !  "  she  said,  with  perfect  calm. 
"  The  baby  is  as  well  as  he  was,  last  night.  If  he 
is  so  desperately  ill,  the  nurse  would  n't  have  gone 
away  and  left  him  all  alone,  as  I  found  him.  The 
nurse  knows  what  she  is  about;  that  is,"  swiftly  she 
corrected  herself;  "she  would,  if  Doctor  Keltridge 
would  let  her  alone.  If  anything  does  happen  to 
the  child,  it  will  be  through  you." 

"Through  me?"  Brenton  whitened. 

"  Yes,"  Katharine  answered,  reckless  of  her  hus 
band's  hurt,  reckless,  too,  of  the  probable  state  of 
his  nerves,  after  his  all-night  vigil.  "  I  could  have 
cured  baby,  if  you  had  kept  out  of  it.  Your  doc 
tors'  poisons  have  done  harm  enough;  but  your 
fears,  your  distrust,  have  been  the  final  touch.  If 


346  THE    BRENTONS 

you  had  let  me  alone,  I  could  have  saved  him.  Even 
now,  it  may  not  be  too  late."  She  turned,  her  chin 
in  the  air  and  her  eyes  bright  with  anger,  although 
about  her  lips  there  lurked  a  little  smile  of  pleasure 
in  what  seemed  to  her  her  own  excessive  self-control. 

Brenton's  self-control,  though,  was  the  greater. 
However  much  his  voice  might  shake,  the  hand  he 
laid  upon  her  arm  was  singularly  steady. 

"  Katharine,  my  dear  wife,"  he  said ;  "  I  must  beg 
you  not  to  go  away  from  the  house  just  now." 

"  Why  not?  "  Katharine's  voice  was  metallic  in 
its  hardness. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  sorry  for  ever,  if  you 
do.  The  baby  —  " 

She  shook  his  hand  away. 

"  It  is  for  the  baby  I  am  going,  Scott.  Here  and 
alone,  I  am  powerless  to  counteract  the  harm  you 
do.  I  must  have  help." 

"  What  help  ?  "  he  asked  her  hoarsely,  while  his 
eyes,  almost  unseeingly,  were  busy  with  a  thin  trickle 
of  water  that  clung  to  the  front  breadths  of  her 
pale-brown  gown. 

"  The  help  of  my  church,  of  their  combined 
prayers.  Alone,  I  can  do  nothing.  I  must  ask  them 
all  to  help  me,  if  my  baby  boy  is  to  be  saved  from 
the  consequences  of  his  father's  doubts." 

"  Katharine !  " 

But,  with  a  flutter  of  her  skirts,  she  had  vanished 
from  the  room,  smiling  and  self-reliant  and  very, 
very  smug.  To  her  belief,  she  had  borne  down  the 
ignorant  oppression  of  the  unbeliever ;  she  had  given 
testimony  to  her  indomitable  confidence  in  her  new 
creed;  she  was  about  to  give  still  stronger  testi- 


THE    BRENTONS  ,'317 

mony  to  the  indomitable  healing  power  of  that  same 
creed. 

And  Brenton,  left  alone,  shut  his  teeth  hard  upon 
the  ugly  words  that  struggled  to  his  lips.  Then, 
white  and  wan,  less  from  his  all-night  vigil  than 
from  the  five-minute  altercation  with  his  wife,  he 
turned  away  and  re-entered  the  room  where  the  child 
was  lying. 

It  needed  no  eye  skilled  in  watching  the  advance 
of  death  to  be  aware  that  the  little  life  was  ebbing 
fast.  The  look  of  waxiness  had  been  increasing,  all 
night  long;  the  breathing  was  becoming  fitful;  the 
tiny  figure  seemed  relaxed  in  every  weakening  limb. 
The  eyes,  though  heavy  and  lustreless,  were  wide,  wide 
open,  and  the  white  little  lips  wavered  into  a  ghost 
of  a  smile,  as  Brenton  crossed  the  threshold.  Then 
one  little  hand  stirred  ever  so  slightly,  strove  to  lift 
itself  in  greeting,  failed. 

"  Daddy's  boy !  "  Brenton  said,  as  bravely  as  he 
could. 

The  ghost  of  the  smile  grew  a  bit  stronger,  as 
Brenton  sat  down  beside  the  crib  and,  after  his 
custom  of  these  later  days,  held  out  one  brown  fore 
finger.  Instantly,  the  wan  little  claw  closed  around 
the  finger,  the  baby  nestled  slightly,  and  then  fell 
into  a  light  doze. 

The  nurse's  voice,  when  she  spoke,  failed  to  pene 
trate  the  doze. 

"  I  called  up  Doctor  Keltridge,  and  he  said  he 
had  a  broken  hip  to  set  at  once.  It  may  be  two 
hours,  before  he  can  get  here.  He  told  me  to  keep 
up  the  stimulant." 

"  You  have  used  it  ?  " 


348  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Once,  while  you  were  talking  to  Mrs.  Brenton. 
It  is  nearly  time,  again." 

"  Did  it  —          Brenton's  voice  failed  him  utterly. 

The  nurse  hedged. 

"  It  is  too  soon  yet  to  know.  The  second  dose 
ought  to  show  more." 

But  the  second  dose  did  not  show,  nor  yet  the 
third.  After  the  fourth  one,  the  nurse  looked  up. 

"  Can  you  telephone  to  Mrs.  Brenton?  "  she  asked. 

"You  think?" 

"  That  she  should  be  here.     Can  you  get  her?  " 

And  then  Brenton  was  forced  to  confess  the  truth. 
The  nurse  accepted  the  truth  as  mercifully  as  she 
was  able. 

"  Poor  little  woman !  "  she  said.  "  Is  n't  it  won 
derful  the  hold  the  thing  gets  —  " 

Her  question  was  never  ended.  Instead,  she  laid 
her  hand  on  Brenton's  sleeve. 

"  Look !  "  she  whispered. 

All  at  once,  the  doze  had  ended.  With  its  ending, 
all  look  of  tiredness  and  suffering  had  gone  away 
out  of  the  baby  face.  Instead,  the  little  eyes  were 
eager;  the  little  lips  were  breaking  into  a  smile  of 
utter  joyousness;  the  little  arms  were  up-stretched 
strongly,  the  hands  wide  open  and  shaking  in  happy 
recognition. 

"  Nurse !  "  Then  Brenton  steadied  himself  with 
a  mighty  effort,  and  bent  forward  to  hold  out  his 
arms.  "Daddy  take  boy?"  he  urged  gently,  in  his 
accustomed  phrase. 

There  came  an  instantaneous  check  upon  the  baby's 
eagerness.  The  head  turned,  while  the  eyes  met 
Brenton's  without  a  spark  of  response.  Then  once 


THE    BRENTONS  349 

again  the  little  arms  shot  upward  above  the  brighten 
ing  face  where  the  eager  look  of  recognition  was 
changing  fast  to  a  happiness  ineffable,  to  a  glad 
surety  that  the  vision  opened  to  the  baby  eyes  alone 
was  far  beyond  the  dreams  which  mortal  mind  could 
fashion. 

Then  the  little  arms  dropped  backward;  but  the 
ineffable  happiness  remained. 

Gently,  very  gently,  Scott  Brenton  folded  the  baby 
hands  across  the  muslin  nightie,  and  smoothed  the 
ruffled  baby  hair  above  the  waxy  brow.  Then,  half 
unconsciously,  — 

"  For  Thine  is  the  Kingdom,"  he  said. 

And  then,  a  little  later  on,  he  wondered  why  he 
had  said  it. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-EIGHT 

THE  opening  of  the  second  semester  of  the  college 
year  found  Instructor  Brenton  busy  with  his  classes. 

Conservative  old  Saint  Peter's  had  taken  the  up 
heaval  badly,  not  so  much  the  theoretic  questions  at 
stake  regarding  the  soundness  of  their  rector's  doc 
trine,  as  the  loss  of  their  rector  himself.  The  older 
members  of  the  congregation  loved  Brenton  as  a  son, 
the  younger  ones  as  something  a  little  dearer  than 
a  brother.  One  and  all,  they  missed  his  pastoral 
visitations,  his  incisive  sermons  on  the  righteousness 
of  honest  living ;  above  all  else,  they  missed  his  voice. 
If  they  could  have  kept  these  personal  marks  of  the 
man  himself,  their  rector  might  have  been  welcome 
to  believe  anything  he  chose.  He  was  their  shep 
herd  and  their  friend.  His  curate  was  there  to 
supply  theology  enough  to  answer  for  them  both. 

However,  Brenton,  once  his  resignation  was  handed 
in,  turned  a  deaf  ear  alike  to  argument  and  coaxing. 
The  reason  for  his  resignation  he  had  insisted  on 
setting  forth  downrightly:  he  was  able  no  longer 
to  affirm  absolute  belief  in  some  of  the  main  tenets 
of  his  church.  The  entire  community  loved  Brenton. 
Now  it  gave  proof  of  that  love  in  a  most  loyal 
fashion.  It  neither  gossiped,  nor  indulged  in  undue 
speculation ;  it  merely  did  its  best  to  accept  the 


THE    BRENTONS  351 

given  explanation  in  all  simplicity,  and  say  as  little 
about  it  as  was  possible.  How  well  it  lived  up  to 
its  efforts  was  another  question. 

Of  course,  one  little  circle  of  Brenton's  intimates, 
the  Keltridges  and  the  Opdykes  and  the  Dennisons, 
talked  of  the  matter  freely  among  themselves,  dis 
cussing  causes,  watching  for  effects.  They  regretted 
the  necessity  for  change,  doubted  it,  even.  Granted 
the  necessity,  though,  they  rejoiced  that  Brcnton 
could  be  transplanted  from  one  calling  to  the  other, 
without  the  need  for  their  losing  him  from  their 
midst.  It  was  Brenton  the  friend  they  cared  for; 
not  Brenton  the  preacher  and  pastor  of  souls. 
Moreover,  there  was  not  one  of  them  who,  asked, 
would  have  hesitated  to  affirm  that  now  at  last 
Scott  Brcnton  was  entering  upon  his  true  calling. 
Indeed,  had  not  Professor  Opdyke  the  word  of  his 
old  colleague,  Professor  Mansfield,  to  that  effect? 
Had  not  Professor  Mansfield,  even,  left  his  class 
room,  in  the  middle  of  the  term,  for  the  sake  of 
appearing  before  the  trustees  of  the  college,  and 
giving  his  vehement  testimony  to  that  same  effect? 

The  college,  that  section  of  the  college,  at  least, 
which  dealt  with  the  chemical  department,  rejoiced 
greatly,  when  once  Scott  Brenton  was  launched  upon 
his  lecture  courses.  Doctor  Keltridge,  trustee  and 
medical  adviser,  though,  had  a  double  cause  for  his 
rejoicing.  Not  only  did  he  believe  that  at  last 
Brenton  was  the  right  peg  in  the  proper  hole;  but 
he  was  overjoyed  at  the  possibility  of  what  the 
change  might  accomplish  in  the  man  himself.  Bren 
ton,  on  the  morning  that  his  child  had  died,  had 
lost  something  which  he  never  would  regain.  In 


352  THE    BRENTONS 

more  senses  than  one,  his  wife  and  he,  henceforward, 
would  be  twain,  not  the  one  flesh  ordained  by  matri 
mony.  In  the  hour  of  his  supreme  need,  Katharine 
had  left  him  and  had  gone  her  scientific  way.  In 
that  hour,  moreover,  his  little  son,  pledge  of  their 
closest  union,  had  been  taken  from  him;  and  Bren- 
ton  was  only  too  well  aware  that  now  no  second 
and  similar  pledge  would  ever  be.  In  the  eyes  of 
the  world  and  of  the  literal  law,  Katharine  was  still 
his  wife.  In  the  eye  of  the  spirit,  she  was  holding 
herself  as  far  aloof  from  him  as  if  their  marriage 
had  never  taken  place,  so  far  aloof  that,  nowadays, 
Brenton  scarcely  felt  the  friction  of  her  presence. 

For  the  first  month  and  the  second,  this  aloofness 
came  upon  Scott  Brenton's  nerves,  and  drove  him 
well-nigh  mad.  Night  after  night,  he  tramped  the 
floor,  asking  himself  in  vain  if  such  a  situation  could 
develop,  without  some  fault  upon  his  side.  Day 
after  day,  he  strove  most  conscientiously  to  renew 
the  old  relations  with  his  wife.  He  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  exhume  his  baby  son  and  blow  in  the 
breath  of  life  between  the  folded  lips.  The  one  was 
no  more  dead  than  was  the  other.  Moreover,  as 
he  had  been  in  no  conscious  sense  the  cause  of  either 
tragedy,  so  in  no  sense  could  he  be  the  conscious 
cure.  The  forces  culminating  in  his  present  trouble 
had  been  set  in  motion  long,  long  before  the  hour 
when  Catie  had  poked  her  curly  head  in  at  the  gate. 
Critical,  censorious  and  selfishly  ambitious  in  her 
little  childhood,  her  womanhood  had  strengthened 
along  these  well-marked  lines,  and  the  lines  had  led 
her  infallibly  into  the  net  of  the  shallowest,  most 
smug  religion  that  ever  has  set  forth  a  plausible 


THE    BRENTONS  353 

excuse  for  total  selfishness.  Once  she  was  landed 
in  the  net,  the  rest  was  simple.  She  was  in  growing 
harmony  with  Universal  Mind.  Whatever  thing  op 
posed  her  viewpoint  was  out  of  harmony,  and  there 
fore  sinful  and  laden  with  incipient  disease,  curable 
only  so  far  as  it  yielded  allegiance  to  her  scientific 
doctrine. 

And  that  allegiance  Brenton  would  not  yield.  In 
that  one  matter,  he  stood  firm,  albeit  he  realized  but 
too  well  that  his  firmness  jeopardized  for  ever  his 
relations  with  his  wife.  After  the  funeral  of  their 
little  son,  there  had  been  two  stormy  scenes  between 
them,  and  then  a  silence  more  pregnant  of  disaster 
than  any  storm  could  ever  be.  Katharine  smiled, 
and  carried  her  chin  high  in  the  air.  Brenton's 
head  was  bowed  between  his  shoulders ;  he  walked 
heavily,  his  eyes  upon  the  ground.  Indeed,  the  two 
of  them  were  equally  lacking  in  elasticity.  Katha 
rine's  tension  was  too  great  to  admit  of  any  margin 
for  spring.  Brenton's  relaxation  was  too  complete 
to  leave  any  one  aware  that  a  spring  ever  had 
existed. 

As  the  weeks  ran  on  into  months,  the  spiritual 
separation  between  them  grew  more  definite.  There 
was  no  friction,  no  clashing.  They  were  too  remote 
from  each  other  for  that.  They  met  at  meals  as 
usual;  they  dined  out  together;  occasionally  they 
sat  out  a  concert  side  by  side.  Apart  from  that, 
however,  they  went  their  ways  without  discussion. 
Katharine  was  flinging  her  entire  enthusiasm,  nowa 
days,  into  her  religious  life,  and  into  its  interesting 
corollary,  the  beautification  of  her  bodily  temple  for 
the  Universal  Mind.  She  prinked  and  preened  her- 


THE    BRENTONS 

self  just  as  industriously  as  she  conned  her  morocco- 
bound  books  of  devotion.  She  went  to  church  on 
Sundaj^s  with  a  zeal  that  balked  at  no  combination 
of  storms  and  mileage.  Between  the  services,  she 
spent  the  greater  part  of  her  time  in  the  society 
of  certain  fellow  scientists  who  lived  not  far  away, 
and  she  emerged  from  their  society  so  filled  with  zeal 
as  to  make  small  evangelistic  forays  into  the  borders 
of  Saint  Peter's  Parish.  Olive  Keltridge  was  one 
victim.  Ramsdell  was  another.  Ramsdell,  however, 
stated  his  own  platform  unmincingly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  so  speaking  to  a  lady," 
he  said  crisply ;  "  but  I  was  born  in  the  Established 
Church,  and  I  don't  go  for  kicking  it  over  into  a 
perfect  slush  of  tommy-rot.  Besides,  my  present 
job  is  to  look  out  for  Mr.  Hopdyke,  not  to  go  off 
my  'ead,  arguing  about  religion."  And,  with  a 
salute  more  crushing  than  he  was  at  all  aware,  Rams 
dell  swung  on  his  heel  and  went  striding  away  down 
the  street. 

All  this  was  bound  to  tell  upon  a  man  of  Brenton's 
calibre,  the  more  so  in  that  Brenton  already  was 
worn  out  with  fighting  his  own  personal  battles  of 
the  spirit.  For  the  first  few  weeks  of  this  evident, 
though  tacit,  hostility,  he  suffered  acutely,  both  from 
the  hostility  itself,  and  from  his  constant  self-ex 
aminations  to  discover  whether  some  fault  of  his 
had  been  the  cause.  In  time,  however,  there  came 
the  inevitable  reaction  towards  a  sensible  steadiness. 
Even  the  spirit  can  become  callous  in  time,  as  Bren 
ton  was  finding  out,  half  to  his  own  regret,  half  to 
his  infinite  relief. 

Moreover,    outside    interests    were    daily    growing 


THE    BRENTONS  355 

more  insistent;  of  necessity  they  crowded  out  a 
little  of  his  personal  and  domestic  worry.  There 
were*  innumerable  conferences  with  Doctor  Keltridge 
and  Professor  Opdyke ;  there  was  one  discussion 
with  the  assembled  trustees  of  the  college ;  there 
was  one  hard  hour  of  explanation  before  the  assem 
bled  wardens  of  the  church.  Last  of  all  came  the 
talk  with  his  curate  whom,  despite  his  bunny  hood 
and  his  archaic  theological  tenets,  Brenton  had  grown 
to  love.  Up  to  the  very  hour  of  their  talk,  the 
callow  little  curate  had  gained  no  inkling  of  what 
his  rector  had  been  passing  through.  To  his  young 
mind,  the  experience  was  no  less  cruel  to  himself 
than  it  had  been  to  Brenton.  He  had  supposed 
that  the  belief  of  every  man  was  cut  out  by  a  paper 
pattern  outlined  from  directions  in  the  Pentateuch, 
and  washed  in  with  dainty  coloured  borders  taken 
from  the  Gospels  and  the  Book  of  Revelation.  It 
shocked  him  unspeakably  to  find  that  any  man  had 
dared  to  tear  up  that  pattern  and  draft  a  fresh 
one  for  himself.  However,  as  the  talk  went  on, 
shock  had  yielded  to  an  intense  pity,  born  of  his 
love  for  his  superior  officer.  Brenton  was  mistaken, 
wofully  mistaken ;  but  the  mistake  had  cost  him 
dear.  All  the  more,  he  was  deserving  pity  upon 
that  account.  The  tears  stood  in  the  little  curate's 
honest  eyes,  as  he  gripped  Brenton's  hand  at  part 
ing.  He  could  not  understand  his  rector  in  the 
least;  but  he  could  be  perfectly  aware  that  it  was 
no  small  privilege  to  be  admitted  to  the  confidence 
of  so  upright  a  man. 

These   preliminary   duties   done,   Brenton  lost  no 
time   in  making  public  the  fact   of  his   resignation. 


356  THE    BRENTONS 

At  the  time,  he  was  too  busy  with  the  practical 
details  of  his  transplanting  to  pay  any  great  heed 
to  the  storm  of  opposition  which  his  resignation 
roused.  Later  on,  it  pleased  him,  just  as  the  en 
thusiasm  of  his  college  classes  pleased  him,  after 
it  had  ceased  to  be  a  fact  and  had  turned  into  a 
memory.  For  the  time  being,  though,  he  had 
stopped  all  feeling.  Instead,  he  must  preach  his 
final  sermons  without  flinching,  must  confine  them 
so  closely  to  the  matter  of  mere  practical  living  as 
to  leave  no  loophole  for  dogma  to  creep  in;  he 
must  make  everything  as  easy  as  possible  for  his 
successor  who,  at  best,  was  bound  to  have  a  hard 
time  of  it  in  starting ;  above  all,  he  must  help 
Katharine  to  choose  exactly  such  a  house  as  she 
wished,  and  to  furnish  it  exactly  as  her  taste  should 
dictate.  And  so  the  pressure  of  outside  interests 
fell  on  Scott  Brenton's  shoulders  until,  perforce, 
they  straightened  up  to  bear  the  burden.  And  the 
straightening  was  by  no  means  wholly  theoretical. 
It  was  an  infinitely  saner,  sounder  Brenton  who 
faced  his  classes  on  the  first  morning  of  the  new 
semester,  than  any  one,  watching  him  throughout 
the  previous  year,  would  have  ever  dared  to  hope. 

And  Doctor  Keltridge,  who  had  watched  him  rather 
hopelessly,  gave  great  thanks  accordingly. 

"  You  've  proved  the  wisdom  of  your  change, 
Brenton,"  he  remarked,  one  day. 

"How  is  that?" 

"  The  whole  look  of  you.  You  are  n't  the  same 
man  you  were,  five  months  ago.  Mentally  and  phys 
ically,  you  're  sleeker." 

Brenton  laughed. 


THE    BRENTONS  357 

"Is  that  a  sign  of  wisdom?" 

The  doctor  met  the  question  with  composure. 

"  As  a  general  thing,  yes.  The  normal  being  is 
sleek  by  nature.  It 's  only  when  he  cramps  himself 
that  he  gets  wrinkled.  Cramps  himself,  I  say. 
Cramping  from  an  outside  source  never  has  much 
effect  upon  him,  unless  he  chooses  to  have  it.  No ; 
that  's  not  Christian  Science ;  it  's  mere  common 
sense.  As  a  rule,  the  two  things  are  incompatible. 
By  the  way,  I  hear  that  your  ex-curate  has  been 
tackling  your  wife." 

"No!" 

"  A  fact.  The  boy  told  me.  She  started  out  to 
tackle  him,  and  he  clinched  with  her.  I  must  say 
it  was  plucky  of  him,  even  if  it  did  n't  appear  to 
do  much  good." 

Brenton's  gray  eyes  clouded. 

"  The  only  question  is :  what  is  good,"  he  said 
thoughtfully. 

"  No  question  about  it,"  the  doctor  blustered. 
"  The  only  chance  the  idiot  woman  has  —  " 

Brenton  interrupted. 

"  She  is  my  wife,"  he  reminded  the  doctor. 

"  I  don't  care  if  she  is  your  wife,  twenty  times 
over,"  Doctor  Keltridge  said  vehemently.  "  We  both 
know  the  infernal  thing  that  she  has  done." 

"  But,  if  she  believed  it  was  right  —  Brenton 
was  beginning  faintly. 

The  doctor  bore  him  down. 

"  Because  she  is  a  semi-maniac,  she 's  not  to  be 
encouraged  in  her  destruction  of  the  human  race," 
he  argued  hotly.  Then,  as  he  saw  the  tightening 
and  the  whitening  of  Brenton's  lips,  he  forgot  his 


358  THE    BRENTONS 

argument  in  swift  contrition.  "  Damn  it  all,  Bren- 
ton !  I  vowed  I  'd  never  mention  the  thing  to  you 
again,  as  long  as  I  lived,  and  here  I  am  again,  off 
on  the  same  old  subject.  I  'm  a  garrulous  old  man; 
but  —  "  his  keen  face  softened,  puckered  into  a  score 
of  wrinkles ;  "  but  I  loved  that  baby  boy.  I  brought 
him  into  the  world,  and  I  had  spent  no  small  amount 
of  time  congratulating  myself  upon  the  fact  that 
you  'd  got  him,  at  any  rate ;  that  you  'd  have  him 
for  a  comforting  little  peg  to  hang  your  spiritual 
hat  on,  when  you  came  home  from  preaching  the 
gospel  to  a  disgruntled  and  disgruntling  world. 
Almost  I  think  I  felt  his  death  more  than  — 

"  Not  more  than  I."     Brenton  faced  him  steadily. 

"  Not  in  one  sense.  And  yet,  I  did  feel  it  more, 
because,  from  the  first,  I  saw  how  needless  it  would 
be." 

But  Brenton  lifted  up  his  hand. 

"  It 's  over  now,"  he  said  concisely.  "  Why  talk 
about  it?  Some  memories  are  best  off.  left  to  perish." 

And,  in  all  truth,  this  was  one  of  them.  Now  and 
then,  it  would  stir  in  its  grave,  and  lift  up  its  ugly 
head  for  recognition;  but,  as  a  rule,  the  two  men 
had  done  their  best  to  heap  the  dust  of  time  and 
forgetfulness  upon  its  grave.  And  yet,  certain  scenes 
are  so  hideous  that  one  never  quite  forgets  them.  It 
had  been  ordained  for  Brenton  that  the  passing  of 
his  baby  son  should  be  followed  by  such  a  scen£ ,  by 
a  discovery  so  tragic  as  to  make  the  painless  baby 
death  sink  into  insignificance  beside  it. 

It  was  the  doctor  himself  who  had  made  the  dis 
covery,  made  it  just  too  late  to  have  it  do  much 
good  to  any  one.  The  nurse  and  Brenton  were  still 


THE    BRENTONS  359 

bending  above  the  frilly  crib,  smoothing  out  the 
muslin  folds  around  the  child  and  straightening  the 
blankets,  when  the  doctor  came  into  the  room,  eager, 
his  face  alight  with  strength  and  purpose  to  do  his 
share  in  what  he  knew  too  well  could  be  only  a  fight 
to  the  very  finish.  The  words  of  cheer  died  from 
his  lips,  though,  as  he  caught  sight  of  Brenton's 
face. 

"  Not  yet  ?  "  he  asked,  with  an  abruptness  far  more 
sympathetic  than  any  amount  of  tears. 

"  Yes.     Just  now." 

"  Impossible !  "  The  single  word  was  curt.  Still 
more  curt  was  the  brief  question  to  the  nurse,  "  You 
gave  the  stimulant,  as  I  ordered?  " 

"  Three  times." 

"  What  effect  did  it  have?  " 

"  None." 

"  Impossible !  "  the  doctor  said,  yet  once  again. 
"  It  is  what  we  always  use  in  such  cases  as  this. 
There  must  be  some  mistake.  Show  me  the  bottle." 

The  nurse  turned  scarlet  at  the  curt  command. 
Then  quietly  she  rose  and  fetched  the  bottle,  now 
half  empty. 

"  Let  me  take  it."  The  doctor's  face  was  now  as 
scarlet  as  her  own,  the  veins  upon  his  brow  were 
swollen  and  hard  as  knotted  cords;  but  his  hand 
was  very  steady,  as  he  took  the  bottle,  removed  the 
cork,  smelled,  tasted.  "  Who  has  had  access  to  this 
bottle?  "  he  thundered  then,  and  his  voice  boded  little 
good  to  any  meddler. 

"  Mr.  Brenton  and  myself." 

"Who  else?" 

"  Nobody." 


360  THE    BRENTONS 

The  veins  about  the  temples  began  throbbing 
heavily.  Brenton  could  see  the  skin  about  them 
tighten  to  the  pulse-beat.  Between  them,  the  keen 
eyes  gleamed  like  balls  of  polished  metal  surcharged 
with  electricity. 

"  Think  again,  nurse,"  Doctor  Keltridge  said 
slowly.  "  And  remember  that  your  professional 
reputation  is  at  stake.  That  bottle  has  been  emp 
tied  and  refilled  with  water.  Where  has  that  bottle 
been?" 

"  On  the  mantel." 

"Who  has  been  in  the  room?" 

"  Mr.  Brenton,  myself,  and  the  baby." 

"And  Mrs.  Brenton?"  The  doctor's  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  nurse,  as  he  put  the  question.  He 
did  not  see  the  sudden  whitening  of  Brenton's  face; 
but  his  trained  ear  did  make  out  the  swift  intake 
of  Brenton's  breath. 

"  She  came  and  went." 

"  When  you  were  here  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  were  here,  you  or  Mr.  Brenton,  all 
night  long?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  all  the  morning?  " 

"  Except  when  I  was  telephoning  to  you." 

"  Hm !  "  This  time,  as  casually  as  he  was  able, 
the  doctor  glanced  at  Brenton,  and  his  glance  caught 
Brenton  stuffing  a  wadded  handkerchief  into  his 
pocket.  Above  his  forehead,  his  hair  was  damp  and 
sticky.  "  You  left  the  room,  while  you  called  me 
up?  And,  when  you  went  away,  the  bottle  was  on 
the  mantel?  You  are  sure?  " 


THE    BRENTONS  361 

"  I  am  sure." 

"Where  was  it,  when  you  came  back?" 

"  In  the  same  place.  I  know  that,  for  I  went 
straight  to  it.  You  had  just  told  me  it  would  keep 
the  child  alive,  until  you  came."  Under  the  rapid 
fire  of  questions,  the  nurse's  voice  began  to  show 
defiance. 

The  doctor  recognized  the  defiance,  and  lifted  up 
his  head. 

"  Steady,  nurse,"  he  cautioned  her.  "  Don't  get 
on  your  nerves  now;  there  is  too  much  at  stake. 
Where  were  the  others,  while  you  were  telephoning?  " 

"  Mr.  Brenton  had  gone  downstairs  to  get  his 
breakfast.  Mrs.  Brenton  was  dressing  in  her  room." 

"All  the  time?" 

"I  —  I  supposed  so."  The  nurse  turned  to  Bren 
ton  sharply.  "  You  met  her,  Mr.  Brenton,  when 
she  started  down  the  stairs?  "  she  asked  him.  "  I 
am  sure  I  heard  you  speaking  to  her,  sure  that  I 
heard  her  answer." 

Brenton  wet  his  lips ;  then  he  passed  his  hand 
across  his  brow,  palm  outward.  Both  nurse  and 
doctor  could  see  the  heavy  streak  of  moisture  gath 
ered  in  the  life-line. 

"  Forgive  me,  doctor,"  he  said,  after  a  minute. 
"  I  seem  dazed  by  this  thing ;  it  has  been  a  long 
and  anxious  night,  and  I  arn  more  upset  than  I  had 
supposed.  Mrs.  Brenton?  She  has  gone  away  to 
church;  she  felt  that  now,  if  ever,  she  needed  the 
help  and  the  prayers  of  her  own  people." 

But  the  doctor  was  not  to  be  put  off  with  mere 
evasions.  He  pressed  his  question  mercilessly,  hat 
ing  himself  acutely,  all  the  while. 


362  THE    BRENTONS 

"  You  saw  her,  as  the  nurse  says,  when  she  first 
came  out  of  her  room,  this  morning?  " 

"  Yes."  Brenton's  voice  had  lost  its  resonance  and 
sounded  curiously  listless,  as  he  answered.  "  Yes, 
I  saw  her  then,  and  urged  her  not  to  go." 

The  doctor's  eyes  veiled  themselves  abruptly,  and 
he  turned  away.  The  nurse,  watching,  felt  he  was 
satisfied  that  no  blunder  had  occurred  within  the 
house.  Brenton,  though,  knew  differently.  Watch 
ing  the  doctor,  he  was  well  aware  that,  in  the  doc 
tor's  mind,  there  were  no  more  doubts  as  to  the 
person  who  had  made  the  fatal  substitution  than  as 
if,  like  Brenton's  self,  his  keen  old  eyes  had  rested 
upon  the  telltale  drops  clinging  to  Katharine's  front 
breadths. 

The  doctor's  eyes  had  veiled  themselves ;  Brenton 
had  turned  away  and  sunk  down  in  a  chair.  An 
instant  later,  both  the  men  had  rallied  to  a  swift 
attention.  Katharine,  alert,  smiling  a  little  and 
stepping  lightly,  carelessly,  it  seemed,  was  coming 
up  the  stairs. 

Doctor  Keltridge  turned  to  the  nurse. 

"  You  must  be  very  tired,"  he  said,  with  a  kind 
liness  which  yet  held  its  own  note  of  command. 
"  Go  now  and  eat  a  good  breakfast,  and  then  lie 
down.  I  shall  be  here,  for  the  present."  Then  he 
faced  back  to  Katharine,  who  stood  upon  the 
threshold. 

"You  here,  doctor?"  she  said  jauntily,  as  she 
came  in.  "  I  'm  sure  it 's  very  good  of  you." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Brenton.     I  am  here." 

His  accent  took  a  little  from  the  jauntiness  of 
Katharine's  bearing. 


THE    BRENTONS  363 

"  Has  anything  happened?  "  she  asked  swiftly. 

"  Happened?  "  The  doctor's  voice  was  grim  with 
unphrased  reproach. 

"  How  is  my  baby  boy  ?  "  she  asked  again. 

Her  well-considered  flutter  of  agitation  angered 
the  doctor  utterly.  His  reply  came  like  a  blow  from 
a  bludgeon. 

"  Dead." 

"Doctor!  My  baby  boy!  When?  How?"  And 
Katharine,  really  startled  now,  hurried  across  the 
floor  to  the  corner  where  the  frilly  crib  shielded  the 
quiet  sleeper  from  her  gaze. 

Half-way  across  the  floor,  she  was  brought  to  an 
abrupt  halt.  The  doctor's  hand  was  shut  upon  her 
arm  in  a  clutch  of  iron ;  the  doctor's  eyes  were 
blazing  down  at  her  in  a  rage  such  as  Brenton, 
watching,  had  never  before  seen  upon  the  face  of 
human  man. 

"  Stop !  "  he  bade  her  curtly,  yet  in  a  voice  too 
low  to  give  the  servants  below  stairs  any  hint  of 
the  strife  going  on  above.  "  Your  baby  boy  is  sleep 
ing  in  his  Heavenly  Father's  arms.  It  is  not  for 
any  one  like  you  to  try  to  waken  him ;  not  for  you, 
unrepenting,  to  look  into  his  face." 

"  Unrepenting !  Doctor !  "  Katharine  tried  to 
shrink  away  from  the  accusing  face  and  voice;  but 
the  iron  hand  held  her  firmly. 

"  Yes,  unrepenting,"  the  doctor  repeated  gravely 
and,  as  he  spoke,  he  loosed  his  hold  upon  her  arm. 
"  Mrs.  Brenton,  you  asked  me  how  the  baby  died. 
There  is  your  answer."  And  he  pointed  to  the  row 
of  bottles  on  the  shelf. 

Instantly    she    rallied.      Neither,    whether    to    her 


364  THE    BRENTONS 

shame  or  credit  be  it  said,  did  she  make  any  effort 
to  deny  his  wordless  charge. 

"Well?  Suppose  I  did?"  she  said,  with  sudden 
calmness.  "  It  was  my  only  chance  to  save  my 
child." 

"  Katharine  —  " 

"  Wait,  Brenton."  The  doctor  spoke  as  gently 
as  if  he  had  been  talking  to  a  tired  little  child. 
"  Please  leave  this  thing  to  me ;  it  may  save  you 
something,  later  on."  Then  his  voice  hardened. 
"  You  admit  it,  then?  "  he  queried. 

Without  a  glance  at  her  husband,  Katharine  faced 
the  doctor,  her  head  held  high,  her  eyes  and  cheeks 
blazing  with  anger. 

"  I  am  proud  to  do  so,"  she  said,  and  her  voice 
was  hard  as  steel.  "  It  is  my  one  chance  to  speak 
out  in  behalf  of  my  faith." 

"  Your  faith  has  murdered  your  child,"  the  doctor 
told  her  harshly. 

She  answered  him  with  equal  harshness. 

"  The  murder  lies  at  your  own  door.  Left  alone, 
I  would  have  saved  him.  Your  drugs  have  weakened 
him;  your  unreasonable  doubts  have  killed  him  ut 
terly.  Between  the  two  of  you,  yourself  and  —  him," 
and  the  little  pause  was  venomous  with  unspoken 
hatred ;  "  you  have  killed  my  baby  boy.  I  did  my 
best;  I  took  the  final  chance.  But  I  could  not  go 
to  seek  the  help  of  my  own  church,  and  leave  you, 
unguarded,  to  do  your  harm  in  your  own  way.  I 
did  the  only  thing  left  to  me,  when  I  emptied  out 
your  bottle  and  filled  it  with  water.  We  are  told 
that  no  healing  can  be  accomplished,  if  drugs  are 
being  used  at  the  same  time." 


THE    BRENTONS  365 

"Who  tells  you?"  the  doctor  queried  stormily. 

She  stared  at  him  disdainfully,  before  she  an 
swered,  — 

"The  All-Mother  of  our  Church."  Then,  still 
disdainfully,  she  turned  to  leave  the  room.  "  Scott, 
if  you  wish  to  speak  to  me,  I  shall  be  in  my  own 
room,"  she  said. 

And  then,  still  smiling  slightly,  still  a  little  bit 
disdainful,  she  went  away  and  left  the  two  men 
standing  there  alone. 


CHAPTER    TWENTY-NINE 

"  HE  is  n't  always  such  an  ass,"  Dolph  said,  as  he 
crossed  his  legs,  preparatory  to  a  long  discussion. 
"  It 's  only  when  he  sets  out  to  be  bold  and  bad  that 
he  's  so  intolerable." 

"  Prather  and  the  adjectives  don't  seem  to  match 
up  very  well,"  Reed  objected. 

"  No.  That  is  the  whole  trouble ;  he  can't  live 
up  to  his  ambitions.  The  poor  little  beggar  would 
like  nothing  better  than  to  go  the  pace,  as  a  sort 
of  experimental  lap  for  the  instruction  of  his  char 
acters;  but  he  always  finds  the  pace  too  swift,  and 
lags  behind.  As  result,  he  is  n't  fast,  but  merely 
skittish.  In  the  same  way,  he  'd  like  to  pose  as  a 
black-hearted  villain.  Instead,  he  gets  to  a  point 
where  he  is  just  about  as  unsanctified  as  a  Sunday 
edition  of  fruit  salad." 

"Sunday?" 

"  Yes,  when  they  chuck  in  all  the  odds  and  ends  of 
wine  left  from  the  dinners  of  the  week.  To  the  un 
trained  tongue,  it  is  a  fearful  pleasure  to  partake 
thereof.  Prather  makes  up  his  iniquitous  debauches 
after  the  same  recipe:  absorbing  the  yellow  journals 
and  the  orange  output  of  his  fellow  novelists,  going 
down  to  New  York  for  a  week  end,  and  then  coming 
home  to  embody  in  a  novel  his  consequent  attack  of 
biliousness." 


THE    BRENTONS  367 

"  You  've  read  his  last  one?  " 

Dolph  nodded. 

"  And  therefore  I  know  whereof  I  speak,"  he  added 
gloomily.  "  I  wish  the  little  beggar  would  leave  off 
his  moving  picture  shows  of  town  society,  and  hie  his 
muse  once  more  in  search  of  subjects  from  the  woolly 
West." 

"  Knowing  the  West  more  than  a  little,  I  don't." 
Heed  spoke  with  decision. 

"What's  the  harm?" 

"  He  does  n't  get  within  a  gunshot  of  the  truth." 

"  No  matter.  He  thinks  he  does,  and  the  average 
member  of  his  reading  public  does  n't  know  enough 
to  realize  the  difference." 

"  All  the  worse.  He  ought  to  be  sued  for  libel. 
By  the  way,  did  you  know  he  has  been  having  his 
professional  eye  on  me?  " 

"For  what?" 

"  Copy,  of  course.  He  got  to  calling  rather  often. 
I  must  say  that  I  lured  him  on ;  I  found  his  babble 
a  distraction.  Then,  one  day  —  Prather  is  nothing, 
if  not  transparent  —  he  let  out  the  fact  that  he  was 
taking  notes  of  me,  for  his  next  novel." 

"  Of  all  the  —  " 

Reed  interrupted. 

"Not  in  my  present  ignominy,  however;  but  as 
I  must  have  been,  he  explained  most  considerately, 
in  my  prime.  He  must  have  had  good  confidence  in 
his  own  imagination,  though." 

"  Of  course,"  Dolph  said  serenely.  "  He  's  always 
banked  on  that.  I  've  heard  him  telling,  after  any 
number  of  different  dinners,  what  a  feat  it  was  for 
him  to  write  A  Portia  of  the  Rockies  when,  for  a  fact, 


368  THE    BRENTONS 

he  never  had  been  farther  west  than  Toledo.  But 
what  is  he  going  to  do  with  you?  " 

"  Nothing.     I  called  him  off." 

Dolph  nodded  at  the  ankle  he  was  nursing  in  both 
hands. 

"  Grand  work,  that !  "  he  said.  "  It  would  be  about 
as  easy  as  calling  off  a  flea  that  was  starting  on  a 
cross-country  journey  to  the  nearest  dog.  How  did 
you  manage?  " 

Reed's  brown  eyes  laughed;  but  his  voice  was 
grave. 

"  I  invoked  Ramsdell,  and  he  did  the  deed.  From 
all  accounts,  he  did  it  thoroughly,  for  Prather  has  n't 
put  his  nose  inside  my  room,  since  the  day  that 
Ramsdell  escorted  him  downstairs." 

"  I  say !  "  Dolph  looked  up  suddenly.  "  I  've  a 
patch  to  put  over  that  hole.  About  three  weeks  ago? 
Yes?  Well,  at  Olive  Keltridge's  last  dinner,  Prather 
came  edging  up  to  me.  I  saw  he  had  things  on  his 
mind,  and  I  was  n't  busy,  so  I  let  him  get  them  off. 
Else,  I  was  afraid  he  'd  strangle  with  the  unaccus 
tomed  load." 

"And  the  things  were  me?"  Reed  inquired 
urbanely. 

"  Yes.  He  asked  me  if  I  had  heard  that  you  were 
growing  very  nervous  lately.  That  you  —  Well, 
never  mind  the  rest  of  it.  In  the  time  of  it,  though, 
I  supposed  that  it  was  his  novelist's  imagination  that 
had  got  to  work.  Now  I  know  it  was  only  another 
manifestation  of  the  almighty  Ramsdell." 

"  He  is  almighty,  Dolph.  I  'd  be  badly  off  with 
out  him." 

"  So  I  observe."     Dolph  chuckled.     "  At  first,  I 


THE    BRENTONS  369 

was  as  afraid  of  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  country  under 
taker  looking  for  a  job;  but  I'm  slowly  coming  to 
the  belief  that  the  fellow  is  an  actual  wag.  Really, 
you  'd  be  badly  off  without  him.  He  '11  stay  on,  of 
course?  " 

"  As  long  as  I  can  keep  him.  He  informs  me  daily 
that  he  '11  see  me  through  it  till  I  die.  From  all  in 
dications,  though,  I  'in  a  good  deal  more  afraid  of  his 
dying,  first." 

"  Rot !  "  Dolph  remarked  cheerily.  "  What  you 
need,  Opdyke,  is  to  forego  thoughts  of  dying,  and 
get  busy." 

"  What  about?  "  Reed  asked  a  little  bitterly.  "  My 
present  environment  is  n't  particularly  fitted  for  the 
strenuous  life." 

Dolph  shut  his  two  hands,  side  by  side,  around 
his  ankle.  When  he  spoke,  though,  his  voice  was 
unconcerned. 

"  Not  unless  you  take  your  profession  into  bed 
with  you,"  he  remarked. 

From  behind  Opdyke's  courteous  smile  for  a  rather 
dull  joke,  there  gathered  interest,  comprehension, 
eagerness. 

"  Dennison,  you  mean  something  or  other,  out  of 
that,"  he  said,  after  a  little  pause. 

Dolph  shot  him  one  swift  glance  of  scrutiny. 

"  Naturally.  As  a  rule,  I  don't  talk  at  random," 
he  said  then. 

"What  do  you  mean,  exactly?"  Reed  sought  to 
put  the  question  steadily,  but  his  voice  throbbed  with 
excitement. 

Satisfied  with  the  start  that  he  had  made,  Dolph 
let  go  his  ankle  and  sank  back  inertly  in  his  chair. 


370  THE    BRENTONS 

"  What  idiots  you  specialist  fellows  are !  "  he  ob 
served  indolently.  "  Once  you  get  smacked  on  the 
head,  you  're  all  in.  You  think  you  are  killed,  and, 
instead  of  kicking  around  to  find  out  the  truth  of  the 
matter,  you  promptly  proceed  to  turn  up  your  toes." 

Reed  eyed  him  keenly,  spoke  impatiently. 

"  Interpret,  Dolph.  I  may  be  dense ;  but  I  can't 
see  what  it  is  you  're  driving  at." 

"  More  fool  you !  I  thought  better  of  you,  Op- 
dyke,  than  all  that,"  Dolph  told  him,  with  unabated 
serenity.  "  Did  n't  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing 
as  a  consulting  engineer?  " 

"  I  ought,  as  it  was  my  official  title,"  Reed  made 
curt  answer.  "  What  then?  " 

"  Put  your  title  into  commission,  man." 

"  Impossible." 

"  Not  at  all.  Of  course,  you  can't  go  raging 
around  the  mountains ;  but  you  may  have  heard  of 
an  old  gentleman  named  Mahomet.  Yes?  Well, 
there  you  are.  And  you  've  a  laboratory  and  a  staff 
of  chemists  under  your  very  elbow.  Make  your  people 
come  to  you,  instead  of  your  going  to  them.  Your 
reputation  is  all  made  by  now.  Sit  back  and  get  the 
working  good  out  of  it,  not  chuck  it  away  as  if  it 
was  n't  worth  an  uninitialled  Lincoln  cent." 

Nothing  more  nonchalant  and  unconcerned  than 
Dolph's  drawling  utterance  could  have  been  imagined. 
None  the  less,  his  words  appeared  to  have  kindled 
into  new  flame  the  burnt-out  fires  of  Opdyke's  pro 
fessional  ambition.  For  a  minute  or  two,  he  lay  quite 
silent,  while  two  scarlet  patches  glowed  upon  his 
cheeks,  and  while  the  eyes  above  them  seemed  to  fix 
themselves  on  distant  vistas  far  beyond  the  limits 


THE    BRENTONS  871 

of  Dolph's  sight.  Then  at  last,  he  spoke,  whimsi 
cally  as  far  as  his  mere  wording  went,  but  in  a  voice 
which  Dolph  found  scarcely  recognizable. 

"  Dennison,"  he  said  slowly ;  "  for  a  man  who  aims 
to  be  considered  a  genius  by  reason  of  the  chronic 
mismatching  of  his  socks  and  ties,  and  by  his  dis 
cordant  metaphors,  you  once  in  a  while  do  have  an 
inspiration.  Thanks.  And  now,  would  you  mind  it, 
if  I  asked  you  to  go  home?  I  believe  I  'd  like  a  little 
time  to  think  things  over.  Come  in,  to-morrow  morn 
ing,  though.  Else,  I  shall  send  Ramsdell  out  to 
capture  you." 

Next  day,  Dolph  did  come  in,  and  again  the  next. 
On  the  third  day,  Opdyke  had  a  half-dozen  letters 
to  show  him,  a  half-dozen  bits  of  planning  to  submit 
to  his  shrewd  young  brain. 

"  I  've  rather  got  to  count  on  you  in  this  thing, 
Dennison,"  he  said  concisely.  "  My  father  is  an 
older  man,  and  the  past  two  years  have  been  hard 
on  him ;  he  's  not  so  aggressive  as  he  was,  not  half 
so  optimistic.  Doctor  Kcltridge  will  be  watching  me 
to  see  that  I  'm  not  overdoing.  He  means  well ;  but 
now  and  then  it 's  healthy  to  overdo  matters  a  little. 
Brenton  has  all  he  can  handle,  with  his  wife.  There 
fore,  in  view  of  Ramsdell's  scholarly  attainments,  and 
until  I  'm  justified  in  setting  up  a  professional  as 
sistant,  I  rather  fancy  that  it 's  up  to  you." 

"  Thanks.  I  'm  there,  every  time,"  Dolph  told  him 
crisply.  "  Besides,  after  yesterday,  I  'd  walk  on  my 
ears  for  you." 

"  You  might  give  a  sample  exhibition  now.  Have 
you  said  anything,  yet?" 

"  No  chance.     Besides,  I  rather  hated  —    Hang  it 


372  THE    BRENTONS 

all,  Reed,  I  don't  want  to  be  in  a  hurry  about  shuf 
fling  off  in  your  best  shoes !  " 

Reed's  eyes  lost  a  little  of  their  eagerness ;  but  his 
smile  was  unfaltering. 

"  They  never  were  my  shoes,  Dolph.  Even  if  they 
had  been,  I  could  n't  wear  them  now ;  that  has  all 
gone  by.  And,  if  they  had  been  mine,  and  I  had  had 
to  pass  them  on  to  some  one  else,  there  is  no  one  in 
the  world  I  'd  see  walking  off  in  them  so  contentedly 
as  I  would  see  you.  Fact,  man,  so  take  it  as  it 
comes,  and  enter  into  your  own  kingdom." 

"  If  it  is  mine,"  Dolph  said  gravely. 

"  I  think  it  is.  It  is  for  you  to  find  out,  though. 
But  remember  this:  you  are  not  to  feel  for  one  in 
stant  that  you  're  dispossessing  any  rightful  heir. 
The  chance  is  yours,  Dolph.  Most  likely  it  never 
would  have  been  mine,  in  any  case.  Now  it  is  totally 
impossible." 

Dolph  attempted  one  last  remonstrance. 

"  But  why?  "  he  asked  vehemently. 

The  smile  faded  from  Reed's  lips,  and  the  lines 
around  the  lips  grew  grim. 

"  Because,"  he  answered  tersely ;  "  my  common 
sense  is  in  working  order,  even  if  my  legs  are  not." 

And,  with  this  downright  assurance  ringing  in  his 
ears  and  with  the  tragedy  of  its  brave  renunciation 
crowding  out  somewhat  of  his  own  hopefulness,  Dolph 
Dennison  went  away  in  search  of  Olive  Keltridge. 

Olive,  however,  was  gone  to  a  luncheon  out  of  town, 
so  Dolph  was  told  by  the  maid  who  answered  to  his 
ringing.  Therefore  he  went  his  way  once  more ;  and, 
feeling  idle,  unsettled,  alternately  depressed  at  the 
prospect  of  what  he  deemed  his  coming  selfishness  in 


THE    BRENTONS  373 

seeking  Olive  again  later  on,  and  elated  with  a  gen 
eral  zeal  for  altruistic  effort  by  the  success  of  his 
attempt  to  arouse  Opdyke's  dormant  ambition:  be 
cause  of  all  these  things,  he  suddenly  decided  that 
it  would  be  the  part  of  good  fellowship  to  pay  a  visit 
to  his  former  rector  and  present  colleague,  Brenton. 

To  be  sure,  Dolph  had  never  had  the  habit  of  call 
ing  upon  Brenton.  From  the  first,  his  liking  for  the 
man  had  been  a  temperate  one,  a  liking  mitigated  by 
his  own  regrets  concerning  the  nature  of  Brenton's 
sense  of  humour.  Moreover,  he  shied  a  little  bit  at 
Brenton's  priestly  calling,  shied  a  little  bit  more  at 
the  idea  of  coming  into  closer  quarters  with  Bren 
ton's  wife.  Now,  from  all  accounts,  the  wife  was 
somewhat  in  abeyance ;  and  the  sudden  reversal  of 
Brenton's  collar  buttons  had  turned  him  from  the 
picture  of  a  priest  to  at  least  the  semblance  of  a 
man. 

In  regard  to  Brenton,  Dolph  Dennison  saw  no  need 
to  mince  matters.  His  clear  young  eyes  had  made  out 
the  one  loose  thread  that  sagged  and  knotted  across 
and  across  the  texture  of  Brenton's  mind.  He  saw 
it  and,  lacking  knowledge  of  its  source  in  Brenton's 
erratic  father,  he  condemned  it  with  the  cocksure 
harshness  of  exceeding  youth.  Without  it,  Brenton 
would  have  been  all  man.  With  it,  Dolph  believed, 
he  was  predestined  to  futility.  Indeed,  what  hope 
was  there  for  a  man  who  would  get  himself  all  waxy 
over  such  played-out  doctrines  as  predestination,  and 
then  sit  by,  impotently  calm,  and  watch  his  wife  go 
off  upon  the  Christian  Science  tangent,  without  a 
word  to  stop  her  and  tie  her  down  to  reason?  It  was 
like  finding  cold,  bare  bones  embedded  in  one's  break- 


374  THE    BRENTONS 

fast  porridge.  None  the  less,  one  did  owe  some  social 
decencies  to  one's  colleagues  of  the  faculty.  There 
fore,  despite  his  new-formed  porridge  metaphor, 
Dolph  trudged  away  in  the  direction  of  the  Bren- 
tons'  home. 

The  new  home  was  a  smaller  one  than  Saint  Peter's 
rectory.  It  stood  back  a  little  from  the  street,  under 
a  trio  of  giant  hemlocks  which  shaded  the  front 
verandah  and  the  long  stretch  of  gravelled  walk.  The 
shady  walk  was  damp  now,  with  the  moisture  of  the 
early  spring,  and  the  wet  little  stones  ground  only 
softly  underneath  Dolph's  heels,  so  softly  that  their 
murmur  was  quite  inaudible  inside  the  house,  although 
a  window,  wide  open  to  the  front  verandah,  gave  to 
Dolph,  as  he  crossed  the  lawn,  a  full  knowledge  of 
the  discussion  going  on  within.  It  was  a  one-sided 
sort  of  a  discussion,  to  all  appearing.  Moreover, 
from  the  pitch  and  the  velocity  of  the  voice,  Dolph 
judged  the  discussion  to  be  largely  on  the  part  of 
the  Brentons'  most  recent  cook. 

"  There  's  no  use  in  my  trying  to  please  you,"  he 
heard  the  voice  say,  as  he  started  up  the  strip  of 
gravel.  "  You  find  fault  with  everything  I  do ;  you 
interfere  with  my  rights  —  ' 

There  came  the  low  murmur  of  another  voice. 
Then,  - 

"  Rights  ?  My  rights  to  rule  my  life  according  to 
my  own  beliefs.  My  rights  to  seek  the  Universal 
Truth.  I  have  my  way  to  go,  as  you  say  you  have 
yours.  The  two  ways  can  never  be  the  same.  I  have 
tried  my  best  to  make  them  so;  but  it  is  no  use." 

Again  the  murmur. 

"  And  my  best  to  live  up  to  my  share  of  a  bad 


THE    BRENTONS  875 

bargain,"  came  the  brutal  answer.  "  My  best  to  —  " 
The  voice  choked  with  its  own  emotions. 

"  Tut !  Tut !  "  Dolph  remarked  softly,  at  the  in 
visible  owner  of  the  voice.  "  Steady,  now;  or  you  '11 
be  crying,  next  thing  you  know." 

His  warning,  though,  was  needless.  No  trace  of 
tears  came  into  the  militant  reply  to  the  next  low 
words. 

"  Yes,  a  bad,  bad  bargain.  When  we  came  together, 
I  dreamed  of  a  perfect  union,  a  life  of  mutual  op 
portunity.  Oh,  yes,  I  know.  You  say  it 's  all  on 
account  of  my  beliefs,  all  because  I  have  strayed 
away  from  the  chalkline  you  marked  out  for  me. 
But  who  else  has  strayed?  Who  else  has  thrown 
over  his  earlier  creed?  And  you  have  thrown  with 
it  all  belief  in  anything,  tossed  it  aside  as  if  it  had 
been  a  worn-out  rag.  I  have  laid  it  aside,  unharmed, 
and  chosen  out  another  creed  of  finer  texture.  And 
now  you  think  I  am  going  to  stay  here,  inert,  supine, 
and  watch  you  tear  that  creed  apart.  Never !  " 

"  Grand  language,  that,"  Dolph  soliloquized,  as  he 
mounted  the  steps  and  came  into  hearing  of  the 
words.  "  Evidently,  it 's  not  the  cook ;  she  would  n't 
be  up  to  that  level." 

"  Your  fault?  Whose  fault,  else?  Who  first  took 
pains  to  teach  me  that  the  old  creed  of  our  parents 
was  unbelievable?  Who  put  the  first  questionings 
into  my  young  mind?  Who  waked  me  from  my 
mental  sleep?  It  was  you,  yourself.  Without  you, 
I  never  should  have  known  the  peace  which  now  I 
feel.  For  so  much,  I  am  grateful  to  you,  Scott 
Brenton." 

On  the  final  sentences,  the  angry  voice  had  lowered 


376  THE    BRENTONS 

its  pitch  a  little,  as  if  to  come  into  some  slight  con 
sonance  with  the  peace  of  which  it  boasted.  The 
different  cadence,  coupled  with  the  unexpected  use 
of  Brenton's  given  name,  brought  light  to  Dolph 
Dennison. 

"  Damn !  "  he  remarked  succinctly,  letting  go  the 
knocker  with  which  he  had  been  hoping  to  put  an 
end  to  the  discussion.  "  It 's  Mrs.  Brenton !  " 

And  then,  obedient  to  the  town-wide  impulse  which 
never  failed  to  come  in  times  of  trouble,  Dolph  bolted 
down  the  Brenton  doorsteps  on  his  tiptoes,  and 
dashed  away  in  search  of  Doctor  Keltridge. 

The  pause  which  followed  his  departure,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  had  no  connection  with  it.  Rather, 
it  was  of  two-fold  purpose.  Katharine  needed  time 
to  catch  her  breath;  Brenton  needed  time  to  rally 
his  mind  to  meet  the  sudden  strain.  In  the  end,  it 
was  Brenton  who  spoke. 

"  Then,  Katharine,  what  is  it  your  plan  to  do  ?  " 

"  My  plan !  "  her  voice  bespoke  her  scorn.  "  At 
least,  then,  you  are  beginning  to  consider  me  a 
little." 

"  I  always  have  meant  to  consider  you,  Katharine." 

"  When?  In  what  way?  "  But  she  waited  for  no 
answer,  except  the  one  which  she  herself  was  ready 
to  give.  "  None.  You  lived  your  life.  You  went 
your  way.  You  gave  me  the  crumbs  of  your  time, 
of  your  mind.  My  share  in  your  life  came  out  of 
what  your  other  friends  left  over.  Did  you  consult 
me,  when  you  turned  into  an  Episcopalian  ?  No ! 
Did  you  consult  me,  when  you  threw  it  all  aside,  all 
your  pretty  broken  toy  that,  once  on  a  time,  you 
had  called  religion,  and  went  to  teaching  chemistry 


THE    BRENTONS  377 

to  a  pack  of  girls?  No!  A  thousand  times,  no! 
You  made  your  life  the  way  you  wanted  it.  You 
say  it  was  your  right  to  do  so.  Then,  in  the  same 
way,  I  claim  it  is  my  right,  in  searching  for  the 
truth,  to  make  my  life  over  into  anything  I  choose." 

"  But,  if  your  choice  is  not  a  wise  one?  " 

She  turned  upon  him  fiercely. 

"  Who  are  you  to  judge?  And  is  your  own  choice 
so  wise?  Your  own  choices,  rather,  for,  if  I  remem 
ber  clearly,  there  have  been  a  number  of  them.  And 
what  good  have  they  done  to  any  man?" 

"  Too  little  good,  Katharine,"  Brenton  assented 
humbly.  "  At  least,  though,  they  have  done  no 
harm." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  she  taunted  him  de 
fiantly.  "  How  is  any  man  to  know  the  harm  he  can 
do  by  a  wrong  belief?  No;  I  don't  mean  the  harm 
you  may  have  done  to  yourself.  That  is  superficial. 
You  can  cure  it  easily;  there  are  dozens  of  mental 
plasters  that  you  can  apply."  Her  voice  grew  yet 
more  scornful  on  the  phrase.  "  But  what  about  the 
harm  to  other  people?  What  about  the  harm  to  me 
from  all  your  theological  shilly-shally?  The  only 
wonder  of  it  all  is  that  I  was  given  the  strength  to 
come  out  of  it  and  into  something  better.  And 
now  — 

Brenton  stayed  her  torrent  of  words  by  the  very 
quiet  of  his  brief  question. 

"Now,  Katharine?" 

"  Now  I  demand  my  right  to  go  out  and  make 
what  I  can  of  the  little  you  have  left  me  of  my 
life." 

"In  what  way?" 


378  THE    BRENTONS 

His  quiet  interrogations  pierced  her  excitement  as 
no  opposition  could  have  done.  Her  next  reply,  when 
it  came,  was  almost  devoid  of  passion. 

"  I  wish  to  study.  I  must  have  my  time  for  that, 
not  fritter  it  away  on  managing  servants  and  going 
to  faculty  dinners." 

"To  study  what?" 

Again  she  flung  up  her  head,  and  her  eyes  glittered. 
Her  voice,  though,  was  now  under  perfect  control. 

"  To  study  my  religion,  to  learn  to  know  it  through 
and  through." 

"  I  thought  you  knew  it  now." 

She  looked  at  him  as  from  a  measureless  height 
of  wisdom  and  experience. 

"  Does  one  ever  know  the  Infinite?  Our  belief  can 
not  be  packed  into  a  neat  bundle  and  tied  up  in  the 
Apostles  Creed.  It  is  deeper  than  that,  and  far,  far 
wider.  And  then,"  and,  to  Brenton's  astonishment, 
her  face  lighted  with  a  smile  which  was  curiously 
akin  to  one  of  happy  peace ;  "  and,  in  time,  I  shall 
do  my  best  to  prepare  myself  to  be  a  Healer." 

"  Katharine !  "  Despite  the  peaceful  smile  which 
had  heralded  the  announcement,  Brenton  felt  his  whole 
nature  recoiling  from  the  thought. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  asked  him  swiftly.  "  You  mean 
I  am  not  worthy?  Of  course  not  —  yet.  In  time, 
though,  it  will  come ;  in  time,  I  shall  be  free  from 
thoughts  such  as  have  dragged  me  down  into  to-day's 
discussion.  Not,  though,  while  I  live  with  you  as 
you  are  now.  Not  while  I  have  the  daily  friction  of 
your  unbelief  and  opposition.  While  these  confront 
me,  I  am  tied  down  to  the  lower  level;  the  hour  has 
come  when  I  know  it  is  my  higher  duty  to  go  free. 


THE    BRENTONS  379 

For  that  reason,  I  have  told  you  this,  to-day.  One 
has  to  make  practical  plans,  even  if  it  is  to  carry  out 
spiritual  endeavours.  There  are  things  to  arrange, 
before  I  go." 

There  came  a  little  silence.     Then,  — 

"  You  are  really  going?  "  Brenton  asked. 

"  I  am." 

"When?" 

"  I  promised  to  be  in  Boston,  early  in  the  week." 

Again  there  came  the  silence.  This  time,  it  lasted 
until,  with  an  ostentatiously  natural  step,  Katharine 
turned  away  and  left  the  room.  Then,  for  an  in 
stant,  Brenton  stood  staring  after  her.  An  instant 
later,  he  had  dropped  down  at  his  desk  and  buried 
his  face  within  the  circle  of  his  clasped  arms,  cover 
ing  his  ears  to  shut  out  the  echo  of  his  wife's  ac 
cusing  words.  He  tried  to  drive  off  from  his  mind 
the  ugly  question  how  far  he  himself  had  been  blam- 
able  for  this  thing;  how  far  he  might  have  steadied 
Katharine  by  forcing  her  to  go  with  him  into  all  the 
secrets  of  his  life.  Instead,  he  tried  to  fix  his  mind 
upon  the  approaching  ruin  of  his  home ;  but  he  only 
could  succeed  in  thinking  about  the  passing  of  his 
baby  boy,  about  the  way  the  weazen  little  arms  had 
shot  upward,  waving  in  joyous  and  insistent  recogni 
tion.  After  all  their  tedious,  aching  search  for  truth, 
Katharine's  search  and  his,  had  it  been  given  to  that 
little  child  to  find  out  and  acknowledge  the  eternal 
verities,  hidden  for  ever  from  their  older  eyes? 

And,  meanwhile,  his  world  was  waxing  empty. 
First  his  beliefs  had  gone;  and  then  his  baby  boy, 
his  hope;  and  now,  last  of  all,  was  to  go  his  wife 
who  should  have  been  his  final  trust.  The  past  was 


380  THE    BRENTONS 

finished.  Ahead  of  him  was  nothing  but  a  lonely 
road  which  led  nowhere  and  ended  in  nothing.  Of 
what  use  for  a  tired  man  like  himself  to  force  himself 
up  and  on  along  it?  Of  what  use  to  deny  his  share 
of  domestic  blame,  merely  because  his  intentions  had 
been  of  the  most  unselfish?  His  head  sank  lower  in 
his  clasping  arms. 

It  was  so  that  Doctor  Keltridge  found  him  when, 
an  hour  later,  he  came  marching  in  at  the  unlatched 
front  door. 


CHAPTER    THIRTY 

"  THE  thing  is  amounting  to  an  obsession,"  Doctor 
Kcltridge  told  Professor  Opdyke  testily,  two  months 
later.  "  I  never  saw  a  case  of  such  ineradicable 
dubiousness  concerning  all  the  things  that  do  not 
count." 

"  But  the  fellow  is  sincere,"  the  professor  urged 
in  extenuation. 

"  Yes ;  that  makes  it  all  so  much  the  worse,  as  we 
doctors  are  aware.  It 's  a  species  of  disease,  Opdyke, 
and  when  a  patient  takes  his  disease  seriously,  as  a 
general  rule  it 's  all  up  with  him.  Just  how  far  has 
Brenton  gone?  " 

"  From  our  standpoint,  not  very  far ;  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  student  mind,  to  the  outer  limits 
of  agnosticism." 

The  doctor  whistled  thoughtfully. 

"  What  a  damn-fool  he  is,  Opdyke !  "  he  remarked, 
with  stress  upon  the  hyphen. 

"  Yes,  and  no.  If  I  were  going  to  analyze  him, 
I  'd  write  his  formula  as  B3M  -(-  ECo7,  thrice  brilliant 
man  plus  —  and,  mind  you,  the  plus  is  a  serious  handi 
cap  —  an  embodied  conscience  raised  to  the  seventh 
power.  Brenton  is  brilliant;  but  his  mind  works  in 
a  series  of  swift  flashes,  and  the  flashes  dazzle  him  till 
they  spoil  all  of  his  perspective.  Instead  of  taking 


382  THE    BRENTONS 

them  for  what  they  are,  mere  sparks  flying  from  the 
ends  of  broken  mental  contact,  he  thinks  that  they 
are  errant  gleams  of  universal  truth,  vouchsafed  to 
him  alone.  Then  his  seven-horse-power  conscience 
goes  to  work,  and  bids  him  scatter  the  gleams  across 
a  darkening  world.  If  he  did  n't  mean  so  very  well, 
he  would  do  infinitely  better.  However,  he  —  " 

"  Is  Brenton,"  the  doctor  interposed  quietly. 
"  What  is  more,  he  will  be  Brenton  till  the  end  of 
time.  He  even  may  get  worse,  by  way  of  natural 
reaction  from  the  strain  he  was  under  with  his  wife. 
He  steadied  to  that  better  than  I  hoped,  steadied  to 
the  baby's  death,  and  steadied  to  the  reproaches  she 
considerately  heaped  on  him  for  her  parting  gift." 

"  Reproaches  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She  told  him  that  he  was  to  blame  for  the 
whole  situation ;  that,  if  he  had  n't  run  amok,  she 
would  be  jogging  contentedly  along  the  path  of  an 
cestral  Calvinism.  Moreover,  the  fact  that  there  is 
more  than  a  grain  of  truth  in  her  contention  does  n't 
lessen  the  sting  that  it  has  left  behind.  Now,  as  a 
natural  consequence,  the  strain  over,  he  is  letting  go 
entirely.  He  is  made  like  that.  Unless  we  want  him 
to  go  to  pieces  utterly,  we  shall  either  have  to  invoke 
the  aid  of  circumstance,  or  else  bring  him  up  with 
a  round  turn,  ourselves." 

"  How?  "  the  professor  queried  flatly.  "  A  man 
in  his  position  is  not  amenable  to  discipline." 

"  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that."  The  doctor  chuckled. 
'*  I  am  a  trustee,  you  know." 

"  Then  he  '11  resign." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  may  threaten  it,  may  talk 
grand  and  elevated  nonsense  concerning  freedom  of 


THE    BRENTONS  385 

speech  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  When  it  comes  to 
resignation,  though,  he  will  draw  in  his  horns.  His 
life  is  in  that  laboratory  of  yours." 

"  And  in  his  students  ?  " 

"  No.  There  's  the  trouble.  It 's  the  idea  itself 
he  's  after,  not  its  growing  grip  upon  the  world  at 
large." 

"  Then  what  makes  him  —  The  professor  paused 
for  the  fitting  word. 

The  doctor  supplied  it,  and  remorselessly. 

"  Explatterate?  Because  it 's  a  part  of  him  to  talk 
forth  his  imaginings,  and,  just  at  the  present  hour, 
he  lacks  all  proper  outlet  but  his  class.  Something 
has  gone  bad  inside  the  man ;  no  wonder,  though, 
when  one  thinks  of  all  that  he  has  gone  through. 
Even  you,  Opdyke,  will  never  know  the  worst  of  that. 
Still,  we  shall  have  to  put  some  sort  of  brake  upon 
him;  he  can't  go  on  like  this." 

For  a  little  while,  the  professor  smoked  in  silence. 

"  Can't  you  warn  him  unofficially,  Keltridge?  "  he 
asked  then. 

"  That  he  is  disgracing  the  department?  " 

"  No.  That  he  is  wrecking  his  final  chance  to 
amount  to  anything  that's  practical?  That,  if  he 
holds  on  here,  he  must  keep  within  some  sort  of 
limits  in  the  things  he  says?  That,  if  he  lets  go 
this  present  opportunity,  he  '11  turn  into  the  worst 
of  all  things,  a  mental  derelict?" 

The  doctor  groaned  at  the  suggestion. 

"  Opdyke,  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  '11  put  in  all  my 
time,  playing  intellectual  wet-nurse  to  Scott  Brenton ! 
I  've  served  my  turn.  If  ever  he  began  to  cut  his 
wisdom  teeth,  it  's  time  he  was  about  it." 


384  THE    BRENTONS 

The  professor  took  up  the  metaphor  and  cast  it 
back  upon  the  doctor. 

"  A  good  many  babies  die  of  teething,"  he  said. 
"  I  've  heard  you  say,  yourself,  that  it  was  the  one 
time  in  all  a  man's  life  when  he  was  most  dependent 
on  the  ministrations  of  the  doctor." 

The  doctor  rose  and  straightened  up  his  shoulders. 

"Fairly  caught,"  he  confessed.  "Well,  I'll  do 
my  best.  Meanwhile,  how  is  Reed?  " 

"  Too  busy  to  think  much  about  himself." 

"  Not  overworking?"  the  doctor  questioned  sharply. 

"  No.  At  least,  not  if  his  mental  condition  is  any 
index  to  his  physical.  He  is  eager  as  a  boy  over  the 
way  his  work  is  coming  in.  Did  I  tell  you  he  has 
an  assistant  coming,  day  after  to-morrow?  Poor 
little  Dennison  has  been  swamped,  for  two  weeks,  in 
the  rising  tide  of  things  that  he  knew  nothing  at  all 
about.  I  must  say  he  's  been  heroic  in  his  efforts  to 
help  Reed  out." 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"  Dolph  is  a  good  sort.  In  the  last  analysis,  he 
is  not  unlike  Reed ;  they  have  the  same  staying  power, 
the  same  trick  of  hating  to  take  themselves  in  earnest. 
Still,  for  Reed's  sake  as  well  as  Dolph's,  I  'm  glad  a 
trained  assistant  is  coming.  In  fact,  I  might  say 
I  am  glad  on  my  own  account." 

"You?" 

The  doctor  laughed. 

"  Yes.  I  've  had  Dolph  at  all  hours,  tearing  his 
hair  in  my  laboratory,  while  I  tried  to  coach  him.  I 
do  think,  for  a  boy  brought  up  on  belles-lettres,  he  's 
made  a  decent  showing  as  assistant  mineralogist.  I 
like  Dolph.  He  's  an  all-round  good  fellow." 


THE    BRENTONS  385 

The  professor  laid  aside  his  pipe;  then  he  looked 
up  keenly. 

"  He  's  at  your  house  often?  "  he  inquired. 

The  doctor  read  his  old  friend  like  a  large-print 
page.  Reading,  he  straightway  became  impenetrable. 

"  Yes.  He  drops  in  rather  often,"  he  assented. 
"  Of  course,  he  knows  I  am  a  good  deal  interested 
in  Reed's  new  venture.  Wonderful,  is  n't  it,  the  way 
it  has  turned  out  so  well?  If  only  Brenton  had  one 
quarter  of  his  steady  grip !  " 

But,  for  the  present,  steady  grip  was  the  one  thing 
Brenton  lacked.  Indeed,  watching  the  recent  chaos 
of  his  domestic  life,  one  could  scarcely  wonder.  As 
the  doctor  had  said,  reaction  was  bound  to  come. 
It  had  been  no  small  upsetting,  too,  the  saying  fare 
well  to  his  association  with  Saint  Peter's  Parish.  The 
sudden  reversal  of  his  collar  buttons  was,  in  a  sense, 
typical  of  the  sudden  reversal  of  all  his  habits  of 
thought  and  life.  His  grip  had  been  loosening,  dur 
ing  many  previous  months ;  the  sudden  change  in 
his  responsibilities  appeared  to  have  relaxed  it 
utterly. 

In  the  broadest  sense,  Brenton's  old  work,  like  his 
new,  had  been  teaching.  Now,  however,  the  enthu 
siasm  of  his  gospel  was  possessing  him  completely, 
a  gospel,  nowadays,  solely  of  the  science  which,  hereto 
fore,  threading  through  and  through  the  fabric  of 
his  sermons,  had  of  necessity  been  juggled  to  the 
likeness  of  the  Book  of  Revelation.  Now  that  he 
could  set  it  forth  in  all  its  nakedness,  it  seemed  to 
Brenton  more  than  ever  like  the  Book  of  Revelation. 
Day  after  day,  his  enthusiasm  for  his  theme  increased 
its  pace,  threw  off  the  bridle  of  hard,  concrete  fact, 


386  THE    BRENTONS 

ran  to  the  speculative  limits  of  its  course,  and  then 
ran  past  them.  By  the  first  of  May,  Brenton's  lec 
tures  had  made  themselves  one  of  the  features  of  the 
college  world;  but,  by  the  same  token,  they  had 
ceased  to  be  lectures  upon  chemistry,  and  had  become 
harangues  upon  every  phase  of  the  allied  sciences, 
harangues  which  ran  through  the  entire  gamut  of 
abstract  investigation,  and  came  to  rest  at  last  upon 
the  pair  of  finite  questions :  Whence?  and  Whither? 

And,  by  the  first  of  May,  the  student  world  was 
all  agog,  seeking  to  answer  those  questions  flatly  and 
quite  off-hand,  instead  of  waiting  for  experience  of 
life  to  give  the  answer  for  them.  Brenton,  meantime, 
was  becoming  ten  times  the  force  he  had  been  at 
Saint  Peter's ;  the  only  trouble  lay  in  the  fact  that 
now  his  force  was,  not  formative,  but  deformative. 

"  He  's  making  himself  a  reputation,  fast  enough," 
Dolph  Dennison  said,  one  day.  "  How  much  good 
he  is  accomplishing,  though,  is  another  question." 

To  Dolph's  surprise,  Olive  opposed  him. 

"  Is  n't  there  always  good  in  simple,  downright 
sincerity?  "  she  queried. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  Dolph  assured  her  bluntly,  for 
a  certain  talk  between  them,  weeks  before,  a  talk 
disastrous  to  the  best  of  Dolph's  plans  for  life,  had 
in  no  sense  put  an  end  to  their  good  friendship. 
"  Sincerity  itself  is  nothing.  It 's  the  thing  one  gets 
sincere  about."  Then,  without  waiting  for  an  an 
swer,  "  What  a  woman  you  are,  Olive !  "  he  said. 

"  Because  I  stand  up  for  Mr.  Brenton  ?  " 

"  Because,  down  in  your  secret  heart,  you  rather 
admire  him  for  his  confounded  weaknesses."  Dolph 
spoke  with  increasing  bluntness. 


THE    BRENTONS  887 

"  Not  for  his  weaknesses,  Dolph.  The  man  is 
plucky  and  sincere.  For  the  sake  of  the  things  that 
he  believes  are  true,  he  will  give  up,  has  given  up, 
more  than  most  of  us  will  ever  gain." 

Dolph  plunged  his  fists  into  his  pockets. 

"  Hang  it  all,  Olive !    Do  be  concrete,"  he  bade  her. 

"  I  will,  if  I  can,"  she  said  fearlessly.  "  It 's  only 
that  the  things  themselves  are  n't  too  concrete." 

"  No."  Dolph  spoke  incisively.  "  I  should  say 
they  are  n't.  Olive  look  here.  Don't  get  your  values 
muddled,  at  this  stage  of  the  game." 

Despite  their  friendship,  she  looked  up  at  him 
haughtily. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Dolph?  " 

For  a  minute,  he  stared  down  at  her,  smiling 
slightly  and  with  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  nullified  the 
frank  brutality  of  his  next  words. 

"  Don't  get  mawkish  over  Brenton,  Olive,  just 
because  he  is  a  pitiful  weakling  who,  in  spite  of  all 
his  good  intentions,  has  made  a  consistent  mess  of 
everything  he  's  tried  to  do.  Because  a  man  is  weak, 
he  is  n't  necessarily  more  lovable.  Because  he  has 
an  incurable  disease,  he  is  n't,  of  necessity,  any  more 
a  subject  for  idolatry.  No;  I  don't  mean  that  to 
lap  over  on  to  Opdyke,  either.  If  ever  a  man  was 
healthy,  Opdyke  is  that  man.  But  Brenton  is  n't. 
His  logic  and  his  conscience  both  are  full  of  bacteria, 
bad  little  bacteria  that  swim  around  and  mess  things. 
He  may  pull  out  of  it,  of  course,  and  make  something 
in  the  end.  Then,  you  can  set  him  up  on  a  pedestal 
and  stick  flowers  in  his  fair  hair.  For  the  present, 
though,  do  keep  sane  about  him,  and  deplore  him,  not 
admire." 


388  THE    BRENTONS 

"  Are  n't  you  a  little  hard  on  him,  Dolph?  "  Olive 
asked  steadily,  although  her  cheeks  were  burning  with 
the  truth  of  his  implied  accusal. 

"No;   I'm  not." 

There  came  a  short  pause.     Then,  — 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  him,"  Olive  said  a  little 
obstinately. 

"  Be  sorry,  then.  Be  just  as  sorry  as  you  can. 
But,  for  heaven's  sake,  don't  tell  him  so,"  Dolph  re 
torted  rather  mercilessly.  "  If  he  's  ever  going  to 
amount  to  anything,  he  must  be  brought  up  with  a 
round  turn,  not  coddled  and  treated  as  a  victim  of 
untoward  circumstance.  If  he  behaves  like  this  over 
a  growing  pain  in  his  theology,  what  do  you  suppose 
he  'd  do  in  Opdyke's  place  ?  " 

Olive  struggled  to  regain  her  hauteur. 

"  The  cases  are  n't  parallel,  Dolph,"  she  said. 
"  One  is  a  physical  matter ;  the  other  concerns  the 
spirit." 

Once  again  Dolph  paused  and  looked  down  at  her 
intently.  Then,  — 

"  Which  is  which  ?  "  he  queried.  "  No ;  don't  get 
testy,  Olive.  I  'm  not  producing  any  brief  for  Op- 
dyke.  In  fact,  he  does  n't  need  one ;  we  both  of  us 
know  already  what  he  stands  for.  But  I  do  hate 
to  see  a  girl  like  you  go  off  her  head  about  such  a 
man  as  Brenton,  a  man  with  a  Christian  Science  wife 
and  a  thrilling  voice  and  speaking  eyes:  all  deadly 
assets  for  a  misunderstood  ex-preacher.  No;  I  do 
not  like  Brenton.  He  's  not  my  sort.  Neither,  for 
the  fact  of  it,  is  he  your  sort." 

Olive  compressed  her  lips. 

"  I  may  help  to  make  him  so,"  she  said. 


THE    BRENTONS  389 

"  Best  let  him  make  himself ;  he  's  had  too  many 
formative  fingers  in  his  pie,  already.  Besides," 
Dolph's  lips  curled  into  an  irrepressible  smile;  "  how 
do  you  know  it  would  be  for  his  advantage?" 

For  one  instant,  Olive  struggled  with  her  pique. 
Then  she  cast  it  off,  and  looked  up  at  Dolph  with 
her  old  smile. 

"  You  hit  hard,  Dolph,"  she  told  him ;  "  but  I  'm 
not  sure  you  are  n't  in  the  right  of  it,  after  all.  I 
like  Mr.  Brenton.  I  am  sorry  for  him;  perhaps  it 
has  muddled  my  values,  as  you  call  it,  to  be  on  the 
inside  circle  of  his  advisers.  Still,  there  is  something 
to  be  said  upon  the  other  side.  You  can't  comprehend 
a  man  like  Mr.  Brenton,  if  you  try." 

"Why  not?  Not  that  I've  tried  over  much, 
though,"  Dolph  added,  in  hasty  confession. 

"  It  would  n't  have  done  you  any  good,  if  you  had 
tried,"  Olive  assured  him  flatly.  "  You  have  n't  a 
single  point  in  common.  By  ancestry  and  training, 
you  're  as  unlike  as  a  Zulu  and  an  Eskimo.  You 
began  at  about  the  point  where  Mr.  Brenton,  if  he  's 
lucky,  will  leave  off.  Your  great-great-grandparents 
settled  once  for  all  the  questions  that  he  's  agonizing 
over  now.  Naturally,  you  don't  remember  their 
struggles,  and  so  you  can't  see  why  his  should 
take  it  out  of  him,  any  more  than  you  can  see 
why  a  personable  man  like  him  ever  could  have 
married  — 

"  What  your  father  aptly  terms  the  She-Gar 
goyle? "  Dolph  inquired.  "No;  I  can't.  But  then 
the  question  arises  promptly,  how  can  you?  " 

Olive  smiled  a  little  sadly.  Loath  though  she  was 
to  acknowledge  it  to  Dolph,  of  late  she  had  been  find- 


390  THE    BRENTONS 

ing  out  that  comprehension  does  not  always  make  for 
full  approval. 

"  As  you  say,  Dolph,"  she  told  him ;  "  it 's  the 
woman  of  me.  After  our  own  fashion,  we  every  one 
of  us  are  natural  nurses ;  we  know  when  our  men 
folk  are  in  pain." 

"  Not  always,  Olive."     Dolph  spoke  sadly. 

"  Yes,  Dolph,  we  do.  Hard  as  it  is,  though,  some 
times  we  have  to  admit  we  have  no  cure  for  that 
especial  pain.  Still,  you  can  be  quite  sure  that  it 
is  n't  easy  for  us  to  turn  away  and  leave  it,  unhealed 
and  aching."  Then  she  threw  off  the  little  allegory, 
and  once  more  spoke  with  spirit.  "  Dolph,  we  're 
created  in  mental  couples,  I  suspect.  Much  as  I 
care  for  Reed,  it  was  you  who  had  the  insight  to 
plan  how  he  could  make  his  life  over  into  something 
besides  the  bare  existence  we  all  were  dreading.  In 
the  same  way,  I  may  be  the  one  to  take  in  the  tragedy 
of  Mr.  Brenton's  indeterminate  existence,  and  make 
it  just  a  little  lighter,  if  only  by  my  understanding. 
Anyway,  I  mean  to  try." 

She  turned  in  across  the  lawn,  leaving  Dolph  to 
stare  after  her  retreating  figure  with  no  small 
anxiety. 

"  Blast  the  understanding !  "  he  said  profanely. 
"  And  then,  blast  the  preacher !  " 

The  poor  preacher,  however,  for  preacher  still 
he  was,  in  spite  of  the  reversal  of  his  collar  fasten 
ings,  was  feeling  himself  already  blasted.  He  had 
been  spending  a  long  hour  in  the  doctor's  labora 
tory;  and  the  doctor,  for  the  once,  had  turned  his 
back  upon  his  pans  and  trays  of  cultures,  and  lav 
ished  his  entire  attention  on  his  visitor. 


THE    BRENTONS  891 

"  It 's  just  here,  Brenton,"  he  said  quietly,  after 
an  hour  of  argument ;  "  you  can  do  one  of  two 
things :  you  can  keep  to  your  text  and  teach  those 
girls  straight  chemistry ;  or  — 

Brenton  faced  him  squarely,  squarely  capped  the 
sentence  with  a  single  word. 

"  Resign." 

"  Yes." 

"  You  mean  you  think  I  am  a  failure  in  my 
teaching?  " 

"  No.  Your  teaching  is  all  right.  You  are  a 
born  chemist  and  a  born  teacher.  It 's  your  in 
fernal  preaching  I  object  to,"  the  doctor  told  him 
unexpectedly. 

"  My  preaching?  " 

"  Yes.  You  employ  your  pulpit  methods  in  your 
classes.  You  take  a  chemical  text,  and  then  turn 
and  twist  it  into  any  sort  of  a  metaphysical  con 
clusion  that  appeals  to  you  at  the  minute.  No; 
wait!  I  am  talking.  Science  is  not  equivocal,  Bren 
ton.  It 's  as  downright  and  determinate  as  A  -f-  B. 
It 's  what  we  know ;  not  what  we  think  we  ought 
to  think  about  the  things  we  know.  And  it 's  science 
you  are  there  to  teach,  not  glittering  abstractions 
having  to  do  with  man's  latter  end.  The  fact  is, 
you  've  spent  so  long  in  trying  to  subject  your 
theology  to  scientific  proof  that,  now  you  're  sur 
feited  with  science,  you  are  trying  to  use  it  as  a 
feeder  to  your  theologic  fires." 

"  Not  consciously,"  Brenton  objected,  as  a  flush 
crept  up  across  his  cheeks.  "  I  have  meant  —  " 

The  doctor  interrupted,  but  not  unkindly. 

"  Consciously  or  unconsciously,  it 's  all  one,  Bren- 


392  THE    BRENTONS 

ton,  as  concerns  the  output.  You  must  bridle  your 
scientific  imagination  and  your  tongue,  or  else  you  '11 
have  the  whole  college  by  the  ears.  For  the  present, 
you  are  letting  off  harmless  rockets.  Before  you 
know  it,  though,  you  '11  be  dynamiting  the  whole 
establishment.  Best  go  slow." 

Brenton   attempted  one  last  stand. 

"  Have  I  any  right  to  go  slow,  doctor,  when 
there 's  a  principle  involved?  Have  I  any  right 
to  suppress  eternal  truths  —  " 

Then  the  doctor  lost  his  temper. 

"  Eternal  polly wogs  ! "  he  burst  out.  "  Man,  you  're 
daft.  Who  told  you  what  truths  are  eternal?  Who 
told  you  where  science  ends,  and  where  theology 
begins?  Who  told  you  what  we  mean,  when  we  say 
provable?  For  two  thousand  years,  and  then  some 
more,  we  have  been  slowly  sifting  down  a  whole 
mass  of  ill-assorted  beliefs  into  two  great  facts: 
Creator  and  created.  For  practical  purposes,  is  n't 
that  all  we  need  to  know  ?  Is  n't  it  all  that  we  any 
of  us  can  grasp:  the  surety  that  the  Creative  Mind 
would  never  have  taken  the  trouble  to  fashion  us, 
in  the  first  place  if  he  had  n't  put  inside  us  all  the 
needful  germs  of  progress,  all  the  needful  intellect 
to  grasp  the  evident  duty  that  lies  just  ahead? 
What  else,  then,  do  you  need?  No.  Don't  try  to 
talk  about  it.  Just  go  out  and  take  a  good,  long 
walk  in  the  fresh  air,  and  forget  your  latter  end 
in  the  more  important  concerns  of  deep  breathing. 
You  are  getting  disgustingly  round-shouldered. 
Good  bye.  And,  by  the  way,  I  '11  tell  Olive  you 
will  be  back  here  to  dinner." 

But  Brenton,  going  on  his  way,  was  totally  ob- 


THE    BRENTONS  393 

livious  to  the  doctor's  sage  counsel  as  to  the  merits 
of  deep  breathing.  Neither  did  he  realize  in  the 
least  the  splendid  optimism  of  the  stern  old  doctor's 
creed.  For  the  hour,  optimism  was  quite  beyond 
his  ken.  He  only  realized  that  his  own  world  had 
gone  bad;  that  failure  awaited  him  at  every  turn, 
not  a  downright  and  practical  failure,  either,  but  a 
nebulous  and  indeterminate  futility.  His  life  had 
been  nothing  but  one  restless  struggle  to  arrive  at 
something  finite,  something  which  should  satisfy  alike 
his  heart  and  reason.  Instead  of  gaining  the  one 
thing,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  had  been  lost.  His 
present  existence  was  as  focusless  as  an  eye  after 
its  lens  has  been  extracted.  His  past  had  been 
opaque,  his  future  would  be  permanently  blurred. 
And  for  what  good  had  been  all  the  pain?  It  would 
have  been  far  better,  far  more  sane,  if  he  had  clung 
stoutly  to  the  flaming  horns  of  his  hereditary  Cal 
vinism.  Infinitely  better  to  feel  their  scorching 
touch  than  to  drift  into  a  state  of  apathy  past  any 
feeling!  And  Brenton  wondered  vaguely  whether  he 
ever  would  feel  anything  again,  anything,  that  is,  as 
a  personal  issue,  rather  than  as  a  scrap  of  the  great 
world-plan.  Most  things,  nowadays,  left  him  con 
scious  of  being  aloof,  remote.  Even  the  going  away 
of  his  wife.  Even  the  death  of  —  He  pulled  him 
self  up  short.  Not  the  baby's  death.  That  was  still 
personal,  still  very  personal;  personal  was  the  mes 
sage  of  those  little  waving  hands.  What  did  the 
baby  see?  Something  denied  for  ever  to  his  adult 
and  doubting  eyes? 

Forgetful  of  the  doctor's  invitation  to  come  back 
to  dine,  Brenton  at  twilight  found  himself  upon  the 


394  THE    BRENTONS 

long  white  bridge,  his  elbows  on  the  rail,  his  eyes 
upon  the  darkening  surface  of  the  river,  as  it  swept 
down  upon  him  from  out  the  purpling  hills.  As  of 
old,  its  mystery  held  him,  the  mystery  of  its  cease 
less  coming,  the  mystery  of  its  ceaseless  going  on 
and  on,  until  it  lost  all  individual  existence  in  the 
soundless,  boundless  sea.  To-night,  in  the  apathy 
which  held  his  senses  in  subjection,  he  watched  it 
through  the  dying  twilight,  until  it  ceased  to  be  to 
him  a  river,  but  appeared  to  him  as  an  embodiment 
of  life  itself,  coming,  coming,  coming  down  to  him 
out  of  the  purpling  distance,  going,  going,  going 
down  away  from  him  into  the  deepening  shadows. 
And  then  the  light  died,  and  darkness  crept  across 
it  all,  and  then  —  extinction. 

Next  morning,  he  arranged  it  with  Professor  Op- 
dyke  that,  for  the  present,  the  other  assistant  should 
take  over  all  of  his  lectures,  while  he  himself  would 
put  in  his  time  inside  the  laboratory. 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-ONE 

DOLPH,  being  Dolph,  spoke  out  his  fears  to  Op- 
dyke.  Dolph,  being  a  rhetorician,  approached  his 
subject  cornerwise,  however. 

"  I  wish  to  heaven  you  'd  fall  in  love  with  Olive, 
Opdyke,"  he  said  moodily,  next  day. 

Reed,  looking  up  from  the  chaos  of  letters  that 
were  littering  his  couch,  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"  So  that  I  could  properly  present  my  sympathy 
to  you?"  he  queried,  as  a  faint  colour  stole  up 
across  his  cheeks. 

Dolph  dropped  his  rhetoric,  and  went  bluntly  to 
the  point. 

"  No ;  so  that  you  could  obliterate  Brenton's 
image  from  her  mind." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Dennison?"  Reed  spoke 
sternly. 

Dolph  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  and  an 
swered  at  the  ceiling. 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  mean  anything  at  all.  Olive  has 
sense  enough  for  a  dozen,  and  Brenton  is  a  married 
man,  with  a  vampire  for  a  wife." 

Reed  cut  in  with  a  question,  which  showed  plainly 
to  Dolph  how  little  he  cared  to  discuss  Dolph's 
fears  concerning  Olive. 

"Does  anybody  hear  anything  from  the  wife?" 


396  THE    BRENTONS 

"  I  don't,  thank  heaven ! "  Dolph  assured  him 
piously.  "  I  did  hear  my  sister-in-law  explaining 
to  a  visitor  that  Mrs.  Brenton  was  very  busy  in 
Boston.  How  she  knew  it;  or  whether  she  made 
it  up  for  conversational  purposes,  I  don't  know. 
Neither  do  I  know  how  long  it  takes  to  get  one's 
self  into  commission  as  a  healer.  Does  n't  Brenton 
ever  say  anything  about  her?  " 

"  Not  to  me.  Of  course,  it 's  not  a  subject  where 
I  like  to  be  asking  questions ;  and  I  suppose,  for 
the  same  reason,  he  hates  to  open  it  up,  himself." 

"  Naturally."  Dolph's  tone  was  dry.  "  Reed, 
who  killed  that  baby?" 

Opdyke  raised  his  brows. 

"  I  'm  not  the  medical  examiner,  Dennison ;  I  'm  not 
obliged  to  say  what  I  think  about  it,"  he  returned. 

Dolph  sat  up  and  faced  his  friend. 

"  I  am,  then.  Opdyke,  if  it  had  n't  been  a  case 
of  his  own  rector's  family,  Doctor  Keltridge  would 
have  carried  the  matter  to  the  courts." 

"Did  Olive  tell  you?" 

"Olive  doesn't  tell  things  of  that  sort,"  Dolph 
said  conclusively.  "  She  's  her  father's  own  child." 
Then,  of  a  sudden,  he  returned  to  his  original 
charge.  "  Opdyke,  why  don't  you  think  a  little 
more  about  Olive  Keltridge?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Because  I  think  quite  enough  of  her,  as  it  is," 
Reed  answered. 

"  Of  her,  but  not  about  her,"  Dolph  said  moodily. 
"  Of  course,  if  I  could  get  her  for  my  own  wife,  I 
would  n't  be  giving  you  this  advice.  I  've  proved 
I  can't,  though  — 

Reed  interrupted. 


THE    BREXTONS  397 

"  Girls  have  been  known  to  change  their  minds," 
he  said. 

In  spite  of  his  sentimental  regrets,  Dolph  laughed 
outright. 

"  If  you  had  been  present  at  our  interview,  you 
would  n't  have  predicted  any  change  in  this  case. 
Olive  was  —  well,  just  as  she  always  is,  the  soul  of 
downright  niceness ;  but  she  managed  to  leave  me 
quite  convinced  once  and  for  all  that  I  might  as 
well  have  wooed  the  woman  in  the  moon.  And,  by 
Jove,"  Dolph's  voice  dropped  to  a  confidential  mur 
mur  ;  "  now  it 's  all  over,  I  begin  to  think  that  she 
was  right.  It  was  a  nasty  half-hour  for  both  of 
us ;  but  we  've  come  out  of  it,  ripping  good  friends 
and  without  a  sentimental  regret  to  our  names." 

"  Speaks  well  for  Olive." 

"  Does  n't  it  ?  It 's  left  me  caring  for  her  a  long 
way  more  than  ever,  only  not  in  the  accepted-suitor 
sort  of  fashion.  That 's  the  reason  I  hate  to  see 
her  drifting  about,  all  at  loose  ends." 

"  Dennison,"  Reed  spoke  with  masterful  abrupt 
ness  ;  "  would  you  mind  doing  a  letter  or  two  at  my 
dictation?  Duncan  is  busy  in  the  laboratory,  this 
afternoon ;  and  these  things  must  go  out  on  to 
night's  mail."  His  voice  was  steady,  as  he  spoke; 
but  in  his  brave  brown  eyes  Dolph  recognized  the 
old-time  harried,  hunted  look  which  he  had  hoped 
would  never  come  again.  Later,  the  letters  done, 
Dolph  went  away  without  waiting  for  more  conver 
sation.  For  a  singularly  happy-go-lucky  mortal, 
Dolph's  instincts  were  to  be  by  no  means  distrusted. 

Dolph's  going  was  only  just  in  time  to  prevent 
his  meeting  Olive  who  came  around  the  curve  of  the 


398  THE    BRENTONS 

street,  just  as  he  was  leaving  the  Opdyke  grounds. 
He  waved  his  hat  to  her  from  afar,  and  she  an 
swered  his  greeting;  but  neither  of  them  changed 
the  direction  of  his  steps.  They  saw  each  other 
often  enough,  in  any  case;  and  it  was  an  accepted 
fact  between  them  that  Reed's  calls  were  better 
taken  singly,  as  a  rule,  than  in  pairs. 

However,  as  she  went  into  Reed's  room,  that  day, 
Olive  began  to  have  her  doubts  how  long  the  old 
rule  would  hold  good.  Reed  was  increasingly  busy, 
nowadays.  Letters  and  drawings,  photographs  and 
samples  of  ores  were  piling  in  upon  him  from  all 
parts  of  the  country.  The  old  phrase,  indeed,  was 
gaining  a  new  fulfilment:  the  mountain  was  coming 
to  Mahomet  in  all  literalness.  Olive  had  long  since 
become  accustomed  to  finding  the  room  littered  with 
the  debris  of  much  consulting,  had  grown  accus 
tomed  to  having  her  trivial  gossip  interrupted  by 
the  advent  of  fresh  letters  and  a  new  supply  of 
specimen  ores.  She  had  grown  glib  in  reading  off 
the  unfamiliar  phrasing  of  the  letters,  facile  in 
writing  down  the  totally  unspellable  words  of  Op- 
dyke's  dictated  replies.  In  all  of  this,  however,  she 
had  been  made  to  feel  aware  that  she  herself  stood 
first  to  Reed,  his  work  stood  second. 

Not  that  Olive  for  one  instant  would  have  allowed 
herself  consciously  to  become  jealous  of  Reed's  work. 
She  was  too  sane  and  generous  for  that,  too  happy 
in  the  change  it  was  making  in  Reed's  existence. 
He  was  alert  and  enthusiastic  now,  where  aforetime 
he  was  passive  and  plucky.  His  brown  eyes  snapped, 
not  gleamed  expressively.  In  short,  the  new  assist 
ant  was  finding  out,  to  his  extreme  surprise,  that 


THE    BRENTONS  399 

his  position  was  no  sentimental  sinecure,  that,  com 
ing  to  be  hands  and  feet  to  supplement  an  active 
scientific  brain,  he  was  likely  to  work  more  strenu 
ously,  more  to  the  purpose,  than  he  had  done  in 
the  New  York  office  of  the  brilliant  specialist  who 
had  sent  him  up  to  Reed. 

It  was  several  weeks  now  since  Dolph  had  made 
his  crisp  suggestion  that  Reed  take  his  profession 
into  bed  with  him.  Even  in  that  little  time,  the 
change  was  measureless ;  to  all  practical  intents  and 
purposes,  the  dying  had  come  into  a  new  life.  The 
life,  too,  was  by  no  means  wholly  intellectual.  As 
Reed's  professional  enthusiasm  grew  stronger,  his 
bodily  gain  apparently  kept  pace  with  it.  To  be 
sure,  the  lower  half  of  him  was  totally,  irrevocably 
dead.  Nevertheless,  by  sheer,  energetic  will,  Opdyke 
was  making  the  upper  half  of  his  body  do  duty  for 
the  whole,  was  gaining  a  control  over  his  crippled 
lower  limbs  that,  six  months  before,  he  would  have 
pronounced  impossible. 

With  Ramsdell  to  pull  and  pry  him  to  position, 
nowadays,  he  sat  leaning  up  against  the  pillows  on 
his  bed,  for  an  hour  or  two  of  every  morning.  The 
effort  brought  the  beads  of  sweat  out  upon  his  fore 
head;  but  he  took  that  a  good  deal  as  a  matter  of 
course,  talked  bravely  of  a  rolling  chair  and  a  lift 
built  on  the  corner  of  the  house  and  even,  a  little 
later  on,  of  a  motor  car  and  of  a  down-town  office. 
Best  of  all,  the  old  haunted  look  had  left  his  eyes 
for  ever.  At  least,  so  Olive  had  believed,  until  that 
day.  To-day,  despite  his  smile  of  greeting,  the  old 
expression  was  peering  out  at  her,  and  she  felt  her 
hopes  chilling  within  her  at  the  sight. 


400  THE    BRENTONS 

"What  is  it,  Reed?"  she  asked  him,  after  a  few 
minutes  of  trivial  conversation.  "  Something  has 
gone  wrong." 

"  Not  with  me,"  he  told  her  quickly.  "  In  fact, 
things  are  very  right.  Ask  Ramsdell." 

"  But  you  look  —  " 

"  How?  "     His  laugh  awaited  her  final  word. 

"  Worried,"  she  told  him  flatly.  "  The  way  you 
used  to  look,  last  winter." 

"  No  reason  that  I  should,"  he  reassured  her. 
"  Things  are  going  swimmingly.  Now  that  my  new 
assistant  has  rallied  from  the  shock  of  his  surround 
ings  and  come  to  a  realizing  sense  that  I  prefer 
technical  journals  to  tracts,  he  is  proving  a  grand 
success.  He  is  going  to  be  of  immense  help ;  and  I 
needed  him,  now  that  work  is  piling  in.  I  'm  hoping, 
though,  your  father  can  plan  some  way  of  giving 
me  a  little  better  use  of  my  arms.  There  's  a  loose 
screw  in  there  that  he  ought  to  tighten." 

"  Reed,"  Olive  spoke  thoughtfully ;  "  you  are 
rather  unusual." 

With  some  effort,  he  kept  all  edge  of  bitterness 
out  of  his  voice,  as  he  replied,  — 

"  I  certainly  trust  so,  Olive.  It  would  n't  be  an 
advantage  to  humanity  at  large  to  have  this  a  nor 
mal  state  of  things.  Still,  it  might  be  worse,  lots 
worse.  I  'm  not  nearly  so  soggy  as  I  was.  Which 
reminds  me:  do  you  mind  going  to  the  bottom  of 
that  heap  of  letters  and  taking  out  the  square  gray 
one.  Yes.  That 's  it.  Now  read  it.  I  've  saved 
it  up  for  your  delight." 

There  came  a  silence,  broken  only  by  the  noise 
of  unfolded  paper.  Then  Olive  looked  up. 


THE    BRENTONS  401 

"  Reed !     The  — " 

"  Don't  swear,  Olive,"  he  admonished  her,  and 
now  his  eyes  were  wholly  mirthful. 

"  I  was  n't  going  to.  I  was  only  hunting  for  ft 
suitable  epithet.  How  does  she  dare?  " 

"  Dare  take  unto  herself  the  glory  of  what  she 
calls  my  incipient  cure?  I  wish  I  thought  it  was 
that;  but  vertebrae  are  vertebrae,  in  spite  of  all 
the  Christian  Scientists  in  all  creation.  As  for  her 
claim,  though,  she  's  got  us  there,  Olive.  One  can't 
well  prove  an  alibi,  when  it 's  a  case  of  absent  treat 
ment.  Still,  I  must  say  I  like  her  nerve." 

"  When  did  this  thing  come?  "  And  Olive  cast 
the  letter  from  her,  with  a  sudden  fury  which,  for 
the  instant,  downed  her  sense  of  humour  utterly. 

"  Only  to-day.  I  had  meant  to  try  a  chair,  to 
morrow  ;  but,  in  view  of  her  predictions,  I  '11  be 
hanged  if  I  will.  She  would  go  to  cackling  forth 
that  it  was  all  her  doing.  How  do  you  suppose  she 
knew  anything  about  me,  anyway?  " 

"  Spies,  probably.  Those  people  will  stoop  to 
anything  to  carry  on  their  cause,"  Olive  said  tartly. 

"  Then  one  ought  to  feel  a  sneaking  admiration 
for  their  esprit  du  corps,  at  least.  In  fact,  if  you 
translate  the  phrase  literally  enough,  it  holds  the 
very  nubbin  of  their  whole  belief.  But  I  hope  you 
noted  the  clause  concerning  Brenton.  I  am  glad 
she  even  feels  so  much  of  interest  in  him." 

Olive  settled  back  in  her  chair,  and  yielded  up  her 
creed  of  married  life  briefly,  trenchantly. 

"  Reed,  if  I  owned  a  husband,  I  'd  focus  my  mind 
upon  his  breakfasts  and  his  buttonholes  and  his  en 
tertainment  of  an  evening.  That 's  what  men  want, 


402  THE    BRENTONS 

not  hifalutin'  mind  cures  delivered  at  long  range." 
Then  she  repented.  "  Still,  I  'm  not  fair  to  Mrs. 
Brenton,  Reed.  She  does  n't  interest  me  in  the  least." 

"  Does  Brenton  ?  "  Reed  asked.  And  then  he  shut 
his  teeth,  as  he  waited  for  the  reply. 

The  reply,  when  it  came,  was  direct. 

"  Yes,  Reed ;  he  does,  intensely.  He  is  a  mass 
of  brilliant  possibilities  that  all  are  going  wrong. 
Moreover,  I  can't  help  a  feeling  I  could  help  him, 
if  I  would.  I  know  that  sometimes  I  have  seen 
farther  inside  his  mind  than  even  he  knows,  and  it  has 
given  me  an  odd  feeling  of  responsibility  over  him, 
a  responsibility  that  I  can't  see  just  how  to  carry 
out."  Suddenly  she  paused.  "  Reed,"  she  said ; 
"  you  're  not  as  well,  to-day.  What  is  the  trouble  ? 
Are  you  overdoing;  or  has  Ramsdell  let  you  strain 
yourself?  " 

He  forced  a  smile  back  to  his  lips,  although  his 
eyes  were  haggard. 

"  It  's  nothing,  Olive,  really."  He  spoke  as  lightly 
as  he  could.  "  Your  imaginings  concerning  Brenton 
have  lapped  over  on  to  me ;  that 's  all." 

She  felt  the  rebuke  in  his  words,  knew  within  her 
self  how  undeserved  it  was,  and,  rather  than  con 
fess  the  truth,  arose  in  her  own  defence. 

"  Not  imaginings,  Reed,"  she  said,  and  her  self- 
protective  dignity  yet  hurt  him.  "  Now  and  then 
we  women  do  have  intuitions  that  are  trustworthy. 
This,  I  think,  is  one  of  them.  And  Mr.  Brenton 
needs  all  the  help  he  can  get,  out  of  any  sort  of 
source." 

Reed  shut  his  teeth  upon  his  hurt,  until  he  could 
command  his  voice  once  more.  Then,  — 


THE    BRENTONS  403 

"  I  agree  with  you  there,  Olive,"  he  assented. 
"  Moreover,  I  wrote  to  Whittenden  about  him,  a 
week  ago.  If  any  one  can  be  of  use,  it  will  be  Whit 
tenden  ;  he  always  knows  what  tonic  it  is  best  to  pre 
scribe.  Must  you  go  ?  "  He  looked  up  at  her  ap- 
pealingly.  Then  the  same  appeal  came  into  his  voice, 
set  it  to  throbbing  with  an  accent  wholly  new  to 
Olive's  ears.  "  Olive,"  he  said ;  "  you  're  not  going 
to  misunderstand  me,  not  going  to  allow  Brenton  to 
come  in  between  us?  " 

Suddenly  the  girl  went  white;  suddenly  she  bent 
down  to  rest  her  hand  on  his,  in  one  of  the  few, 
few  touches  she  had  ever  given  his  fingers  since  the 
day  he  had  been  brought  home  and  laid  there  in 
his  room,  powerless  to  withdraw  himself  from  too 
insistent  human  contacts.  Her  voice,  when  she  spoke, 
had  a  throb  that  matched  his  own. 

"  Never,  Reed !  "  she  said. 

A  moment  later,  she  was  gone,  leaving  Opdyke 
there  alone,  to  wonder  and,  wondering,  to  worry. 

Two  afternoons  later,  Duncan,  the  new  assistant, 
brought  up  a  message  from  the  laboratory.  Brenton 
would  be  at  leisure,  soon  after  four.  Might  he 
come  up?  That  was  just  after  luncheon.  There 
fore  two  hours  would  intervene,  two  hours  for  a  quiet 
going  over  of  certain  things  that  Reed  Opdyke  felt 
it  was  for  him  alone  to  say,  certain  measures  for 
Olive's  safety  which  he  alone  should  take.  Indeed, 
there  was  no  other  man  who  stood,  to  Olive's  mind, 
so  nearly  in  a  brother's  place;  no  other  man,  it 
seemed  to  Opdyke,  who  owned  one  half  so  good  a 
right  to  test  the  ground  on  which  she  stood,  to  as 
sure  himself  that  she  might  venture  forward  safely. 


404  THE    BRENTONS 

Opdyke  was  no  sentimentalist.  Nevertheless,  he 
recognized  all  that  it  might  portend  when  such  a  girl 
as  Olive  Keltridge,  the  soul  of  sanity  and  down- 
rightness,  talked  about  her  comprehension  of  a  man 
like  Brenton.  Moreover,  Opdyke  was  no  gossip. 
Nevertheless,  he  had  not  failed  to  hear  a  certain 
amount  of  speculation  as  to  the  possibilities  of  Bren- 
ton's  seeking  a  divorce.  Sought,  there  was  no 
question  of  his  getting  it.  Katharine's  desertion  was 
an  established  fact  past  all  gainsaying. 

And,  if  he  sought  it  and  won  it,  what  then? 
Merely  the  helping  him  become  as  well  worth  while, 
as  well  worth  Olive's  while,  as  it  was  possible  for 
any  man  to  be.  This  was  the  task  which  Reed  had 
set  himself;  the  task  for  which  he  was  bracing  him 
self,  during  those  two  endless  hours ;  the  task  for 
the  accomplishment  of  which  he  was  resolved,  if  need 
be,  to  tear  away  the  coverings  which,  up  to  now,  he 
had  held  fast  above  certain  of  the  reticences  of  his 
own  life.  The  tearing  would  be  sure  to  hurt ;  but 
what  of  that?  Olive,  given  the  opportunity,  would 
have  done  as  much  for  him. 

The  afternoon  lengthened  interminably,  and  the 
clock  was  striking  the  half-hour,  when  Brenton  finally 
came  up  the  stairs.  His  face  was  grave,  as  he 
greeted  his  old  friend,  his  eyes  a  little  overcast  and 
heavy. 

Reed  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  a  chair. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said  hospitably;  "  and  then  fill  up 
your  pipe.  Duncan  does  n't  smoke,  worse  luck ;  and 
I  find  I  miss  the  old  aroma.  It 's  rather  like  incense 
offered  to  the  ghost  of  my  old  self." 

His  accent  was  trivial,  and  Brenton,  listening  to 


THE    BRENTONS  405 

the  apparently  careless  words,  could  form  no  notion 
of  the  pains  that  had  gone  into  their  choosing. 

"  Your  new  self,  I  should  say.  It 's  astounding, 
Opdyke,  the  way  you  've  picked  yourself  out  of  the 
rut  and  gone  rushing  ahead  again." 

"  With  a  difference,  though,"  Reed  told  him 
bluntly.  "Is  the  jar  full?  You  like  the  kind?" 

"  Yes,  thanks."  And  Brenton  filled  his  pipe.  After 
a  minute's  puffing,  "  After  all,  Opdyke,  you  have 
pretty  well  minimized  the  difference,"  he  observed. 

"  Thanks  to  Ramsdell  and  Duncan,  yes.  They 
have  been  wonderful  props,  and  it 's  good  to  get  on 
my  professional  legs  again,  whatever  my  bodily  ones 
may  do  for  me.  Meanwhile,  how  are  things  going 
with  you  ?  " 

Brenton  smoked  in  silence  for  a  minute.     Then,  — 

"  The  wraith  of  my  departed  priestly  calling  for 
bids  me  to  phrase  my  answer  just  as  I'd  like  best 
to  do,"  he  said. 

Reed  nodded. 

"  So  bad  as  that?     What  is  the  matter  now?  " 

"  It 's  hard  to  specify.  I  seem  to  have  run  my 
self  aground." 

"Pull  off,  then,"  Reed  advised. 

"  No  craft  in  sight  to  tow  me." 

Reed  shut  his  teeth. 

"  Brenton,  that  has  been  your  trouble  from  the 
start.  You  've  always  been  drifting,  anchor  up,  ready 
for  a  tow.  Now  hoist  your  sails  and,  for  the  Lord's 
sake,  go  ahead." 

"Where?" 

"  Where !  Wherever  the  chart  takes  you.  What 
chart?  The  chart  of  plain  duty,  man,  the  duty  of 


406  THE    BRENTONS 

an  honest  citizen  to  make  the  most  of  himself  and  be  a 
little  good  to  humanity  at  large.  No ;  wait.  You  've 
had  your  chances ;  you  can't  cry  off  on  that.  You 
had  your  chance,  'way  back  in  college,  and  you 
chucked  it  over.  How  much  more  would  it  have  hurt 
your  mother  to  have  seen  you  once  for  all  take  up  a 
secular  profession,  than  it  would  to  have  watched  you 
setting  out  to  preach  all  the  things  her  own  religion 
didn't  stand  for?  You  had  another  chance  in  Saint 
Peter's.  It  was  n't  a  small  chance,  either.  You  could 
have  held  that  church  together,  solid ;  you  could  have 
brought  its  people  to  a  working  assent  to  a  prac 
tical  exposition  of  their  creed  that  would  have  kept 
them  busy  and  loyal  to  their  Creator,  in  doing  their 
duty  to  their  co-created  fellow  men.  Instead,  you 
ignored  your  chance  to  keep  them  busy  on  things 
that  would  help  on  the  world  we  live  in,  and  spent  all 
your  energies  in  tangling  up  your  notions  of  the 
world  we  came  out  of,  and  the  world  we,  some  day, 
are  going  into.  As  mental  gymnastics,  it  was  very 
pretty  to  watch;  as  a  useful  employment  for  a  man 
who  calls  himself  a  pastor  of  souls,  it  was  n't  worth 
a  rush." 

"  But  a  man  can't  help  his  thoughts,"  Brenton  ex 
postulated  suddenly. 

"Can't  he?"  Reed  whitened.  "Brenton,"  he 
asked  gravely ;  "  don't  you  suppose  that  there  have 
been  times  on  times,  since  they  lugged  me  up  these 
stairs,  that,  if  I  had  let  myself  go,  I  would  n't  have 
turned  my  face  to  the  wall  and  cursed,  not  only  the 
whole  plan  of  creation,  but  the  Creator  himself? 
Times  on  times  that,  if  I  had  n't  held  tight  to  a  few 
rudimentary  notions  that  I  took  in  with  my  mother's 


THE    BRENTONS  407 

milk,  notions  about  the  decent  and  square  thing  to 
do  for  the  God  that  made  you,  I  would  n't  have  tested 
the  logic  of  your  doubtings  with  a  dose  of  cyanide? 
I  tell  you  a  man  can  help  his  thoughts.  I  tell  you  a 
man  can  hold  to  his  beliefs.  He  can  wonder  about 
the  petty  things  as  much  as  he  chooses,  and  it  never 
does  him  one  bit  of  harm.  But  the  final  great  belief 
of  all,  that  there  is  a  wise  Creator  back  of  things, 
and  that  we  owe  Him  at  least  as  much  loyal  courtesy 
as  we  give  to  the  best  of  our  brother  men:  that  is 
something  it  is  in  the  hands  of  any  man  to  hold  on  to, 
if  he  chooses.  Brenton,  I  hate  to  lecture  you,"  and, 
with  a  sudden  gesture  brimful  of  appealing  for  for 
giveness,  for  loyal  comprehension,  Reed  stretched 
out  his  hand ;  "  but  you  have  got  to  bring  yourself 
up  with  a  round  turn.  In  some  way  or  other,  you 
have  missed  your  chances.  You  have  gone  rushing 
off  for  shiny  butterflies,  when  you  ought  to  have 
stopped  at  home  and  milked  the  cows.  Something," 
he  smiled ;  "  Whittenden  says  it  was  my  downfall, 
set  you  to  asking  questions  that  you  were  too  near 
sighted  to  answer.  Instead  of  sticking  to  a  few  fun 
damental  bits  of  faith,  you  made  yourself  a  ladder  out 
of  theological  catchwords,  clambered  up  it  and  kicked 
out  all  the  rungs,  one  after  another,  as  you  climbed. 
Then  you  turned  dizzy,  and  lost  your  grip,  and  fell 
all  in  a  heap.  Brenton,  we  've  had  about  the  same  ex 
perience,  one  way  or  another,  out  of  life." 

"  But  you  have  braced  up  again  and  gone  ahead," 
Brenton  said  slowly. 

"  So  will  you,  man.  That 's  why  I  am  harrying 
you  now,  to  start  you  up  again.  We  neither  one  of 


408  THE    BRENTONS 

us  are  half  through  our  allotted  term  of  years.  In 
simple  decency,  we  've  got  to  play  out  the  game." 

"  If  we  can,"  Brenton  interrupted. 

"  No  if  about  it.  We  've  got  it  to  do.  Of  course, 
we  can't  do  it  in  quite  the  same  old  way.  Be  plucky 
as  we  can,  it 's  impossible  for  us  to  deny  that  we  've 
been  scarred  —  badly ;  that  the  scars,  some  of  them, 
can  never  really  heal.  Still,  as  long  as  we  've  a  year 
ahead  of  us  and  a  drop  of  fighting  blood  inside  us 
—  Brenton,  it  is  n't  easy ;  but  it 's  our  one  way  to 
prove  we  're  game." 

Then,  for  a  while,  the  room  was  very  still.  At  last, 
Reed  spoke  once  more. 

"  Scott,"  he  said  slowly,  and  the  old  name  held 
a  note  of  great  love ;  "  once  on  a  time,  you  did  n't 
resent  it  when  I  told  you  that  old  Mansfield  asked 
me  to  take  you  in  hand  and  show  you  a  few  things 
out  of  my  own  experience.  Don't  resent  it  now. 
We  've  been  too  good  friends  for  too  many  years 
for  that." 

Ramsdell's  steady  step  came  up  the  stairs,  and 
Reed  went  on  quite  simply. 

"  Then  you  've  heard  from  Whittenden  ?  " 

Brenton,  pulling  himself  back  to  the  present,  looked 
up  sharply  at  the  question. 

"  How  did  you  know?  " 

"  He  wrote  me.     What  does  he  suggest?  " 

"  Did  n't  he  tell  you  that  ?  He  wants  me  to  go 
down  to  him,  and  take  over  some  of  his  settlement 
work." 

"Shall  you  go?" 

Brenton  shook  his  head. 


THE    BREXTONS  409 

"  It 's  out  of  the  question,  Opdyke.  I  only  wish  I 
could,  for  I  am  not  of  much  use  to  your  father,  I  'm 
afraid.  Still,  hereafter  —  Well,  perhaps  you  've 
put  new  force  into  me  by  your  admonitions."  But 
his  voice  broke  a  little  over  the  intentionally  careless 
words. 

Opdyke  ignored  the  allusion. 

"  Then  why  not  go  to  Whittenden?  "  he  inquired, 
as  carelessly  as  he  was  able. 

Brenton  arose  and  stood,  erect,  looking  down  at 
his  old  friend  intently,  as  if  anxious  that  Opdyke 
should  lose  no  fragment  of  his  meaning. 

"  Because,  now  more  than  ever,"  he  said,  a  little 
bit  insistently ;  "  I  feel  it  would  be  impossible  for  me 
to  go  away  from  the  college.  To  change  now  would 
be  a  confession  of  another  failure.  If  I  am  to  make 
good  at  all,  it  must  be  here  and  soon.  Besides,"  and 
now  his  accent  changed ;  "  I  must  stay  on  here  and 
keep  my  house  open,  Opdyke.  The  time  may  come, 
when  Mrs.  Brenton  wishes  to  come  back  to  me.  If 
it  does  come,  she  must  find  everything  ready,  waiting 
for  her  to  make  her  realize  that,  at  last,  she  is  once 
more  at  home." 

And  then,  as  Ramsdell  came  inside  the  room,  he 
turned  and  went  away  down  the  stairs.  Watching 
him,  Reed  Opdyke  could  not  but  feel  reassured  on 
his  account.  Whatever  his  anxieties  for  himself  and 
Olive,  he  could  not  fail  to  realize  that,  unknown  to 
any  of  them,  looking  on,  the  steadying  processes  in 
Brenton  had  begun. 


CHAPTER    THIRTY-TWO 

ALL  the  world  admitted  that  the  summer  was  a  try 
ing  one,  that  year.  All  the  world,  with  half  a  dozen 
exceptions,  turned  migratory,  in  the  hope  of  finding 
better  weather  farther  on.  The  exceptions  included 
the  Opdykes  who  stayed  at  home  on  Reed's  account; 
the  Keltridges  who  remained  in  mercy  to  those  of 
the  doctor's  patients  who  were  too  poor  to  pay  the 
price  of  a  railway  ticket  to  the  seashore,  even  for  a 
day;  and  Brenton  who  never,  since  his  wife  had  left 
him,  had  slept  a  night  away  from  home.  That  Katha 
rine  would  one  day  come  back  to  him,  Brenton  was  so 
firmly  convinced  that  he  saw  no  need  of  insisting  on 
his  belief  to  other  people.  It  was  his  one  steadfast 
ambition  to  keep  the  home  always  ready  to  welcome 
her  back;  always  to  keep  it  as  nearly  as  possible  as 
she  had  left  it,  so  that  her  home  coming  might  ac 
complish  itself  without  the  slightest  jar. 

In  a  sense,  despite  the  chasm  which  had  opened  out 
between  them,  a  chasm,  as  he  now  admitted  frankly 
to  himself,  in  part  of  his  own  making,  despite  even 
the  ugly  facts  surrounding  the  baby's  death,  Brenton 
still  loved  Katharine.  Moreover,  he  still  had  hours 
of  being  desperately  lonely.  Back  of  it  all,  though, 
was  his  strict  adherence  to  the  letter  of  his  marriage 
bond.  Whatever  came  between  them,  Katharine  was 


THE    BRENTONS  411 

still  his  wife;  his  home  was  always  hers.  Whatever 
other  duties  lay  ahead  of  him,  one  was  constant :  to 
hold  himself  true  to  this  avowed  allegiance,  to  win 
her  back  from  what  seemed  to  him  a  passing  mad 
ness;  or  else,  that  failing,  to  take  her  as  she  was 
and  forget  everything  else  besides  the  one  great  fact 
of  her  wifehood,  of  her  recent  motherhood  of  their 
dead  baby  boy.  If  he  held  firm  to  that,  and  to  some 
other  things,  the  future  might  yet  offer  untold  good 
to  them.  Meanwhile,  he  would  be  ready  for  any  event 
that  came. 

The  other  things  to  which  Brenton,  all  that  sum 
mer,  was  holding  firmly,  had  come  out  of  his  asso 
ciation  with  Reed  Opdyke.  Opdyke,  in  all  terseness, 
had  summed  up  man's  whole  duty :  to  play  out  the 
game  uprightly,  and,  out  of  loyalty  to  an  all-wise 
Creator,  not  to  lose  touch  with  the  present  chance  in 
trying  to  see  too  many  moves  ahead.  The  remoter 
parts  of  life,  so  long  as  they  remained  remote,  would 
take  care  of  themselves.  And,  in  the  same  way,  the 
problems  of  the  after-life,  its  meanings,  could  be  left 
unsolved,  if  not  unstudied,  until  the  time  came  when 
one  could  take  them  in  a  nearer  view.  Properly  lived, 
life  was  too  busy  to  admit  of  many  questions,  any 
way.  Always  there  were  so  many  useful  things  to 
be  done  that  scanty  time  remained  for  over  much 
philosophizing.  And,  as  for  the  man  knocked  down 
and  out,  whether  by  spiritual  doubting,  or  black 
powder,  it  was  for  him  to  choose  whether  he  would 
lie  on  his  back  and  wallow  limply  in  the  dust  of 
his  emotions,  or  stiffen  himself,  ready  for  new 
effort. 

All  through  the  blazing  heat  of  the  worst  June  ever 


412  THE    BRENTONS 

recorded ;  all  through  the  chill  of  a  cold,  wet  July, 
Opdyke  preached  his  doctrine  with  insistence, 
preached  it  in  season  and  out.  While  he  preached, 
he  practised ;  often,  it  must  be  confessed,  a  good 
deal  to  his  own  detriment.  The  lift  and  the  rolling 
chair  and  the  down-town  office  were  still  in  a  future 
which  every  one,  including  Reed  himself,  knew  to  be 
increasingly  nebulous.  However,  he  and  Duncan  were 
building  up  no  small  amount  of  reputation  in  their 
work ;  and,  while  the  loosened  screw  of  which  Opdyke 
had  complained  to  Olive  was  throwing  all  the  manual 
toil  on  Duncan,  it  was  an  open  secret  that  Opdyke 
supplied  the  brains. 

However,  no  amount  of  professional  contentment 
can  quite  atone  for  the  strain  of  many  sleepless  nights  ; 
and,  more  than  once  that  summer,  Doctor  Keltridge 
had  been  strongly  tempted  to  call  a  halt  in  the  whole 
undertaking.  Then,  at  the  last  minute,  he  had  stayed 
his  prohibition.  Opdyke,  in  all  surety,  was  working 
far  beyond  his  strength.  None  the  less,  it  seemed  to 
the  old  doctor  that  there  would  be  a  certain  cruelty 
in  bringing  to  a  sudden  halt  this  sole  activity  per 
mitted  to  him,  this  sole  means  of  contact  with  his  old 
profession.  The  doctor  spent  his  summer  between  the 
horns  of  a  dilemma:  his  disapproval  of  Reed's  over 
working,  his  greater  disapproval  of  the  need  for 
thrusting  Reed  back  into  his  former  impotence.  And, 
to  all  seeming,  there  was  no  middle  ground.  It  would 
have  taxed  the  strength  even  of  a  full-bodied  man  to 
have  held  together  a  reputation,  under  such  handi 
caps  as  those  beneath  which  Reed  was  working.  The 
doctor  grumbled  in  his  throat  at  Ramsdell;  but  he 
spoke  out  no  word  to  Reed.  For  the  present,  he 


THE    BREXTONS  413 

was  well  aware,  he  had  power  to  dominate  the  sit 
uation. 

And  so  the  cold,  wet  July  rolled  along;  and  then 
came  an  August,  drearier,  more  chilly.  The  sweet 
New  England  summer  was  drowned  in  a  cold,  raw 
fog  which  only  broke  at  intervals  into  a  day  of 
blazing  sunshine  which  set  all  the  world  a-steam.  It 
was  a  hideous  season,  even  for  the  prosperous  va 
grants  of  society.  To  Reed,  imprisoned  in  his  room 
and  in  a  town  empty  of  all  his  friends  but  two  or 
three,  it  was  well-nigh  insupportable.  Brenton 
dropped  in  upon  him,  half  a  dozen  times  a  week,  and 
Olive  never  missed  a  day,  while  Duncan  was  inval 
uable.  Nevertheless,  it  was  plain  that  the  summer 
was  wearing  on  the  "  puffic'  fibbous,"  although  his 
old-time  beauty  was  bidding  fair  to  outlast  the  malign 
attacks  of  fortune.  Indeed,  to  Olive  Keltridge,  it 
seemed  that  Opdykc  never  had  been  one  half  so  good 
to  look  upon  as  now,  never  one  half  so  virile. 

"  Most  men  would  be  impossible  in  such  a  situ 
ation,"  she  said  to  her  father,  one  morning  in  early 
August.  "  You  would  be  a  caricature,  and,  as  for 
a  man  like  Mr.  Brenton  — 

"  Hush  !  Speak  of  angels  !  "  her  father  warned 
her.  Then,  in  another  tone,  he  added,  "  Morning, 
Brenton.  You're  up  early;  aren't  you?" 

But  Brenton's  face  refused  to  light  in  answer  to 
the  doctor's  greeting. 

"  I  've  had  a  telegram  from  Boston,"  he  said,  and 
his  accent  was  dull,  monotonous.  "  Katharine  is 
very  ill,  pneumonia." 

"  They  have  sent  for  you?  " 

"  Yes!     And  to  hurry." 


414  THE    BRENTONS 

Olive  spoke  impetuously. 

"  I  am  so  sorry.  But  it  may  be  better  than  you 
think." 

He  looked  across  at  her,  as  if  he  had  not  been  aware 
of  her  presence  until  she  spoke. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Keltridge,"  he  said  hastily. 
"  Yes,  it  may  be.  In  pneumonia  there  's  always  some 
hope,  till  the  very  last,  I  imagine.  That  is  the  rea 
son,"  he  turned  back  to  the  doctor ;  "  the  reason  I  've 
come  to  you.  Can  you  go  to  Boston  with  me?  " 

The  doctor  swiftly  conned  his  list  of  cases. 

"This  noon?  Ye  —  es.  But,  Brenton,"  his  keen 
old  eyes  were  infinitely  kind ;  "  you  know  it  is  by  no 
means  sure  that  Mrs.  Brenton  will  let  me  see  her." 

"  I  think  she  will,"  Brenton  said  quietly.  "  She 
has  never  been  in  a  place  like  this  — "  there  came  a 
sudden  wave  of  recollection  which  made  him  glance 
furtively  across  at  the  doctor,  then  add,  "  exactly. 
Besides,  Catie  was  always  very  fond  of  you." 

And  Olive,  hearing,  comprehended  once  again  and, 
comprehending,  gave  to  Brenton  a  new  sort  of  loyalty 
which  she  had  heretofore  denied  him.  She  knew  that, 
in  that  old-time  nickname,  coming  unbidden  to  the 
husband's  lips,  there  was  the  proof  that  all  memory 
of  Katharine's  disaffection  had  been  wiped  out  from 
Brenton's  mind,  for  evermore. 

It  was  early,  the  next  morning,  when  Olive  carried 
the  final  bulletins  to  Reed.  Her  father  had  just  called 
her  up  upon  the  telephone  to  tell  her  that  the  end 
had  come.  Up  to  the  last  of  her  consciousness,  Katha 
rine  had  refused  to  see  him;  only  the  healer  and 
Brenton  had  been  allowed  inside  the  room.  Then, 
when  she  had  sunk  into  the  fitful  stupor  which  could 


THE    BRENTONS  415 

have  only  the  one  ending,  Brenton  had  come  to  sum 
mon  him ;  and  they  had  stood  together,  hand  on  hand, 
while  the  life  before  them  ebbed  away.  It  had  been  a 
peaceful  passing.  Just  at  the  very  end  had  come  a 
moment  of  full  consciousness,  when  she  had  turned  to 
smile  up  at  her  husband. 

"  Scott,"  she  said  to  him ;  "  I  'm  sorry.  But,  in 
the  next  world,  I  think  perhaps  you  '11  understand  me 
just  a  little  better." 

And  then  the  earth-light  had  faded  from  her  eyes 
and,  in  its  place,  there  had  dawned  the  dazzling  recog 
nition  of  the  things  that  are  to  be. 

Reed  listened  to  it  all,  in  perfect  silence.  When 
Olive  had  finished,  — 

"  Poor  old  Brenton !  "  he  said  slowly.  "  It  was  a 
conjugal  I-told-you-so,  coming  back  to  him  as  a  mes 
sage  out  of  the  misty  borderland  he  's  tried  so  hard 
to  penetrate." 

Later,  that  same  day,  Olive  dropped  in  on  Reed 
again.  She  was  lonely,  she  claimed,  without  her 
father,  restless  and  nervous  from  thinking  much  about 
the  Brentons,  wondering  what  Brenton  himself  would 
do.  And  Reed,  who  had  grown  eager  at  her  coming, 
felt  his  eagerness  departing  while  he  listened  to  her 
second  reason.  Even  his  courage  recognized  the  fact 
that  there  were  limits  to  his  strength.  It  seemed  to 
him  quite  intolerable  that  he  must  lie  there  and  smile, 
and  assent  politely  to  the  divagations  of  Olive  con 
cerning  Brenton's  future  plans.  Besides,  loyal  as 
he  was  to  Olive,  Reed  was  conscious  of  a  little  dis 
appointment  that  a  girl,  even  as  uncompromisingly 
downright  as  she,  should  be  quite  so  prompt  in  ex 
pressing  interest  in  Brenton's  future. 


416  THE    BRENTONS 

But  Olive,  noticing  his  reticence,  laid  it  only  to 
the  exhaustion  of  a  hideously  rainy  day,  and  talked 
on  steadily.  What  Reed  did  not  know  till  later  was 
that  her  steady  monologue  was  designed  to  cover  up 
her  real  intention  for  just  a  little  while,  that  she 
might  gain  time  to  stiffen  to  the  resolution  she  had 
taken.  The  resolution  had  been  growing  up  in  her 
for  weeks ;  it  had  come  to  its  climax,  only  that  very 
morning,  when  she  had  met  Ramsdell  on  the  Opdyke 
steps. 

"  How  is  Mr.  Opdyke?  "  she  had  queried. 

Then  she  had  caught  her  breath  at  Ramsdell's 
answer. 

"  Rather  poorly,  Miss  Keltridge." 

She  cast  a  hasty  glance  upward,  to  assure  herself 
that  Reed's  windows  were  not  open. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  demanded  sharply  then. 

Ramsdell  looked  down  upon  her  gloomily. 

"  That  I  'm  uneasy,  Miss  Keltridge.  There  's  no 
one  thing  the  matter,  and  yet  Mr.  Hopdyke  does  seem 
to  be  losing  ground.  It  's  'is  ambition  runs  away  with 
all  'is  strength.  As  long  as  he  kept  still  on  his  back, 
'e  gained.  But  now  'e  seems  to  be  trying  to  get  hout 
of  bed  and  leave  his  back  be'ind  'im,  as  that  'ealing 
woman  told  him ;  and,  like  all  of  us,  he  is  n't  meant 
to  cast  off  his  own  spinal  column,  bad  as  't  is.  His 
work  won't  'urt  'im,  if  he  takes  it  quiet;  but,  as  a 
nurse  trained  in  the  Royal  'Ospital,  I  must  hinsist 
it  is  bad  for  any  man  to  try  to  do  Delsarte  gymnastics 
on  a  hempty  stomach  of  a  morning." 

Despite  her  consternation,  Olive  laughed. 

"  Can't  you  make  him  stop  it,  Ramsdell  ?  " 

"  Impossible,  Miss  Keltridge.     When  it  comes  to 


THE    BRENTONS  417 

that  I  'm  nothing  but  another  man.  What  Mr.  Hop- 
dyke  needs  now  is  a  woman  to  manage  'im  and  cocker 
'im  up  a  bit.  In  spite  of  all  his  work  and  that,  he  \ 
away  off  on  'is  nerve." 

"  How  does  he  show  it,  Ramsdell  ?  "  Olive  asked,  a 
little  faintly,  for  there  was  that  in  the  whites  of  the 
great  black  eyes  which  made  her  painfully  aware  that 
Ramsdell  was  not  talking  quite  at  random,  and  she 
disliked  to  feel  that  even  those  dog-like  eyes,  devoted 
though  they  were  to  Reed,  had  penetrated  the  secret 
of  her  woman's  nature. 

Ramsdell's  reply  refreshed  her  by  its  very  lack  of 
sentiment. 

"  When  'e  's  feeling  fit,  Miss  Keltridge,  'e  swears 
something  glorious.  Nowadays,  it 's  as  much  as  he 
can  do  to  trump  up  henergy  to  let  off  a  single  damn. 
There !  He  's  calling !  "  And  Ramsdell  vanished  in  the 
direction  of  the  stairs. 

Left  to  herself,  Olive  tramped  home  as  if  the  seven- 
league  boots  had  been  upon  her  feet.  Once  at  home, 
for  some  reason  only  known  to  womankind,  she  elected 
to  sweep  and  dust  the  library  with  her  own  hands, 
and  then  to  scour  the  brasses  of  the  fireplace.  Half 
through  the  second  operation,  though,  she  hesitated, 
paused,  stopped  short  and  threw  aside  her  cloth  and 
pinafore.  Leaving  them  for  the  maids  to  discover 
and  gather  up  at  will,  she  went  to  her  room,  arrayed 
herself  immaculately  and  quite  regardless  of  the 
weather,  and  once  more  sallied  out  in  search  of  Reed. 
While  she  was  going  up  the  Opdyke  stairs,  however, 
she  suddenly  became  aware  that  she  had  nothing  to 
say  to  him  which  would  account,  for  her  suddenly  re 
newed  desire  for  his  society.  Accordingly,  she  talked 


418  THE    BRENTONS 

of  Brenton  till  Reed's  soul  was  weary.  Then,  with  a 
sudden  flounce,  she  brought  the  talk  around  to  Reed 
himself. 

"  How  many  mines  have  you  added  to  your  list, 
to-day?  "  she  asked  him. 

Reed  heaved  a  short  sigh  of  relief,  not  out  of  ego 
tism,  but  merely  to  be  freed  from  further  talk  con 
cerning  Brenton. 

"  Only  one." 

"  That 's  unusual.  Still,  I  am  rather  glad  it  hap 
pens  so.  Ramsdell  is  convinced  that  you  are  working 
too  hard,  in  this  impossible  weather." 

"  Ramsdell  is  a  chronic  grumbler,"  Reed  said  dis 
loyally.  "  I  'm  all  right,  Olive." 

She  bent  forward,  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and 
stared  down  at  him  intently. 

"  I  'm  not  too  sure  of  that,  Reed.  You  are  growing 
thin,  and  you  look  tired.  No  wonder,  from  what  Mr. 
Duncan  has  told  us.  Is  it  quite  worth  while,  though?" 

"  It  is." 

"But  why?"  she  urged,  with  sudden  recklessness 
of  any  pain  her  insistence  might  be  causing  him. 

He  reddened. 

"  Let 's  leave  the  dead  past  out  of  it,  Olive. 
What 's  the  use  of  going  over  the  old  ground  again? 
You  know  my  one  ambition  is  to  make  whatever  is 
left  of  my  life  a  gift  worth  while." 

"  Gift  ? "  she  queried  steadily.  "  To  whom, 
Reed?  " 

"  Its  Creator,  when  the  time  comes,"  he  answered, 
with  the  slow  difficulty  with  which  a  strong  man  al 
ways  touches  such  a  theme.  "Who  else?" 

His  sudden  question,  answering  as  it  did  to  her  own 


THE    BRENTONS  419 

thoughts,  astounded  her.  Her  face  flushed,  lighted, 
filled  itself  with  a  dazzling  radiance  which,  for  the 
moment,  Reed  was  powerless  to  interpret.  For  just 
that  single  moment,  Olive  caught  in  her  breath  and 
held  it.  Then,- 

"  Why,  to  me,"  she  answered  simply.  "  Reed  dear, 
you  have  made  it  wonderfully  well  worth  the  asking. 
May  I  have  it  for  my  very  own  ?  " 

Fifteen  minutes  later  on,  Rarnsdell  came  up  the 
stairs.  When  he  had  gone  down  them  stealthily 
and  tiptoed  through  the  lower  hall,  he  wiped  his  eyes, 
then  blew  his  nose  in  raucous  triumph. 

"  The  one  thing  I  'ave  halways  'oped  would 
'appen !  "  he  said  impressively. 

Four  days  afterward,  Brcnton  came  home  again, 
came  straight  from  the  burial  service  on  the  country 
hillside  to  take  up  his  old  life  in  the  wifeless  home. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  his  first  evening  he  spent  with 
Opdyke. 

Opdyke,  looking  for  change  in  him,  was  not  dis 
appointed.  Change  was  evident,  and  of  a  sort  for 
which  Opdyke  had  scarcely  dared  to  hope.  Of  sad 
ness  there  was  curiously  little  sign ;  the  black  band 
on  his  sleeve  was  the  only  outward  show  of  mourn 
ing,  and  Brenton's  face  explained  the  lack.  Even  in 
the  few  days  of  his  new  experience,  the  old  indecision 
seemed  to  have  left  his  face  for  ever,  and  with  it  much 
of  the  old  sadness.  He  carried  himself  more  alertly, 
too,  as  if,  for  the  future,  life  were  too  full  of  purpose 
to  permit  of  any  indecision  or  delay. 

Of  his  trouble,  he  said  singularly  little. 

"  Poor  Catie !  She  died,  loyal  to  me,  and  happy  in 
her  belief,"  he  told  Reed  briefly.  "  It  was  the  end 


420  THE    BRENTONS 

she  would  have  chosen  for  herself.  Next  time  we 
meet  each  other,  though,  we  shall  understand  each 
other  better  and  have  better  patience."  And  that 
was  all  he  said,  then  or  afterwards.  Instead,  he  con 
gratulated  Reed  upon  his  new,  great  happiness. 

After  a  time,  — 

"Now,  shall  you  go  to  Whittenden? "  Opdyke 
asked  him. 

Brenton  shook  his  head. 

"  No.  My  place  is  here.  So  far,  I  have  never 
worked  out  much  good  from  any  of  the  chances  I  've 
had  given  me.  I  'd  better  do  it,  here  and  now,  with 
out  wasting  time  by  any  further  change.  As  for  the 
quality  of  the  work,  Opdyke,  I  've  been  thinking 
things,  the  past  few  days.  There  are  men  in  plenty 
doing  their  level  best  to  work  out  God's  existence  in 
the  lives  of  his  created  children.  For  me,  I  think 
it 's  better  worth  the  while  to  try  to  prove  that  uni 
versal  laws  exist,  and,  out  of  those  laws,  prove  God." 

And  Opdyke  nodded  briefly,  in  token  of  his  perfect 
comprehension. 


THE    END 


Anna  Chapin  Ray's  Novels 


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